All Disheveled Wandering Stars
by S J Smith
Summary: The End of Days is four years past and the demons have won....
1. At The Rise of The Sun

All Disheveled Wandering Stars

S J Smith (laughnfx@yahoo.com)

Disclaimer:  I am not now, nor have I ever been, Joss Whedon or any part of Mutant Enemy.  Nor am I the writer of any of the lyrics/poetry included herein.  I'm not making any profit on this and it's taking time away from my original work, so I should stop writing this right now and go back to my own stuff, but they just don't shut up.  

Rating:  Let's start with 'R'

Summary:  "Where she tread, nothing would ever grow again, or that's what we'd been warned."

Distribution:  Geekgirlz-r.us, Adult BA Shippers, His Girl, BA Fluff.   

Spoilers:  Consider everything up to "Rain of Fire" and at least "Conversations With Dead People" to have happened.      

A.N. 1:  I found one of my old college lit books with my favorite line from one of my favorite poems marked in it.  Then I had this dream….

A.N. 2:  There will be changes of POV, going from first person to omniscient.  Each chapter will probably be different.  Hopefully, it's not too confusing.  

* * * * 

Chapter 1:

AT THE RISE OF THE SUN 
    
    _They fashioned their weapons one upon one_
    
    _Ton upon ton, they called for war at the rise of the sun._
    
    _Out went the call to one and to all_
    
    _That echoed and rolled like the thunder._
    
    _Trumpets and drums, roar upon roar_
    
    _More upon more._
    
    _Rolling the call of "Come now to war."_
    
    _Throughout the night they fashioned their might_
    
    _With right on the side of the mighty._
    
    _They puzzled their minds plan upon plan_
    
    _Man upon man_
    
    _And at dying of dawn the great war began._

– The Monkees, _Zor And Zam_

Fred shoved her glasses firmly up on her nose, staring at the pages she'd filled of her journal, a huge green thing, ugly, but serviceable.  Sort of like her glasses.  The thought of them seemed to make them slip again and she pushed them back into place.  With a sigh, she flipped to the marker in the book, a scrap of a drawing that Angel had done so long ago, of her.  The pencil marks were fading and the paper was a little yellowed and smudged from her looking at it.  But really, it was the only thing she had of him that was hers and hers alone.  She could still remember when he drew her, a sketch she hadn't even realized he'd done until one day she found it on her bed.  She knew it had to be by Angel, no one else drew.  And it was so sweet that he'd done it.  She'd cherished the drawing then and with it in her journal, at least she knew she'd see it whenever she opened the pages.  

Fred took the pen off her bedside table, tapping it lightly against her lips.  Finally, she set the tip against the page and began to write.  

Memories seemed to be flying around everywhere today.  Spike and Cordelia got into a shouting match in the hotel and Spike stormed out.  No one stopped him.  Course, it was just me and Charles there to witness it and Charles, despite Spike being what he is, doesn't really care.  He doesn't like Spike.  But I've written that here before.  

_Since memories keep being brought up, I'll write about them.  I think it seems right to put them on paper, even though some of them are in other books.  But maybe, because it's close to that time of year, maybe that's why it's bothering all of us again.  I know Willow and Xander were talking with Wesley and Faith the other day about going to see Mr. Giles.  They shut up when Cordelia walked into the room.  She still hasn't forgiven him for any of it.  If she knew what they were planning, she'd tell them no.  And she's strong enough that maybe they'd listen to her but maybe not, 'cause they're all mighty stubborn.  But like I was writing, maybe it's time to put down these memories again.  So someone, someday can look back at them and understand.            _

_It's been five years since Angel brought me back from Pylea.  Five years and more, maybe.  I remember those first days, when I was still mad.  Maybe I'm still a little crazy now but not like I was then.  Not like I was when the world ended.  I nearly lost everything then.  _

_It wasn't what we expected.  I mean, maybe someone expected it, obviously someone expected it.  Just not us.  We were all left in the dark and that's why it happened.  The really bad thing, I mean.  Sometimes I'm still surprised that it hurts as much as it does.  Sometimes it doesn't hurt at all, sort of like the memory of a toothache.  I just want to poke at it with my tongue until maybe the pain flares up again.  But there are other people around to do that for me._

_Not poke at my teeth with their tongues, I mean.  But remember.  _

_I try to think of when things were good, though.  Before that big battle.  When we were a family and we all trusted each other.  Before Connor was born.  After Connor was born and before Holtz took him away.  But after Connor came back, well, it was sort of the beginning of the end.  What kind of boy does that to his father?  And with Cordelia missing and Wesley and Lorne gone away, it was just me and Charles and Connor.  We didn't know it at the time but we nursed a rattlesnake.  Wesley found Angel, we got Lorne and Cordelia back and Angel made Connor leave the hotel.  And then, all hell broke loose in the form of a really nasty demon and fire, raining from the sky.  _

_Before we lost contact with the rest of the world, we found out we weren't the only ones.  No, not just Los Angeles or London, or even Greece but Texas.  I think my parents would've fought, they're strong, you know?  But they might've come looking for me.  I sure hope they didn't.  _

_Things are…different now.  It reminds me a little of Pylea.  The demons are in control, sort of, maybe not.  It's so hard to tell.  They managed to get through, when it all went bad.  After the fire from the sky.  But we still try to do good things, you know?  We've got Cordelia here and she's still got some of her demonic powers and the Slayer, her name is Faith.  And a witch, Willow, and Wesley.  And Charles and me, of course, and Xander and Anya and Lorne.  And sometimes, when he's in town, Spike.  But he walks between the worlds, not quite human, not quite demon.  Faith says she doesn't trust him, not really, and I guess she's right.  Just because he used to be the vampire with the soul and was made human in the final battle – he shanshued – he still doesn't feel like he fits in with us too much.  Anya, who says everything, kind of like Cordelia, but she's sharper, like a cactus with arms, says it's because of the other Slayer, Buffy.  That Spike was in love with her and now she's dead.  Except he says she's gone.  Just gone, not dead, she and her sister, Dawn..  And if they're still alive, maybe that means Angel is, too.  _

_I don't know.         _

_But when the battle was done, when it was all over, there were four people missing.  We found one, Connor.  He was bled nearly white but smiling that fierce smile of his.  If you didn't look at his missing arm – or where his missing arm was supposed to be – he looked pretty good.  And in his hand, he held the sword that Angel had been carrying when he went into battle with the Slayer.  With Buffy.  _

_I remember seeing them, getting ready to fight.  Cordelia couldn't believe it, that Buffy was going to kill Connor.  She, Buffy, I mean, said it to Angel's face, that for the world to keep turning the way it was supposed to, Connor had to die.  And her friends were there to make sure that he did.  She had Willow and Mr. Giles and Anya and Spike backing her.  She had Xander and Dawn, too.  Angel told her there was no way he was gonna give over Connor for a sacrifice.  _

_So they fought.  _

_I didn't know that Buffy was stronger than Angel but Cordelia said she was and she wasn't gonna lose either of her men to the Slayer.  So she got into the fight, too.  _

_Funny thing about magic.  It works a little like math.  Cordelia stepped into the fight and the addition of her changed all the magic that Willow and Mr. Giles and Wesley had done.  But we didn't know.  Wesley told us all later that it was all an act, for Buffy and Angel to make sure that Dawn and Connor weren't gonna get hurt.  If Cordelia had stayed out of it, nothing would've happened. _

_But when she took up a weapon to face off with Buffy, Xander and Spike moved in, too.  And then Charles did from our team.  And me.  And the magic couldn't deal with it all.  Snapped like a rubber band.  It killed Mr. Giles.  I saw him fall.  I heard Wesley and Willow scream.  And then the snap hit the rest of us, too.  _

_When we came to, things were different.  We weren't out very long, not more than a second or two, from what Lorne told us later but that was enough time for the walls between the dimensions to crash down.  And in that instant, Earth was overrun.  _

_Now, there are demons and dragons and all sorts of things; things that don't even have names.  And we, well, we hide out at the Hyperion, but we're not really that hidden.  There are people – and demons – who know we're here.  That we're the good guys.  And they come to us if they have problems still.  We've got our own little army built up, a few demons who actually like humans, like the Brachens, and these things that Xander says look like the Manhunter from Mars.  And Spike has his friends too, who help us if things get really bad and then Charles' gang came to live at the hotel, so it isn't like we're fighting all alone any more.  Plus, you know, we have a Slayer.  Faith.  And she's superstrong.  Xander, Willow and Wesley busted her out of jail after the Troubles.  I don't remember who's idea it was, just that, after that battle, after we got cleaned up and back to the hotel, someone said we'd need a Slayer, that we couldn't do anything without one.  And someone remembered Faith.  _

_She's a good person, Faith.  She's a little rough and she's really sexy and Cordelia hates her, just hates her but she's still good and funny and she sure can fight.  She spends a lot of time with the Sunnydale crowd, as Cordelia likes to call them, Xander and Willow and sometimes Wesley, too.  And she doesn't think that Angel's dead any more than Spike thinks Buffy is.  _

_But it still doesn't explain where they are. _

_When they were getting ready to face each other, Angel and Buffy, I mean, I saw it.  I'd always thought kye-rumption when I saw Cordelia and Angel sparring.  And moira, too.  Then I saw Angel and Buffy come together on the battlefield, all right, it was in a theatre that had fallen through the ground during some old earthquake, and it was as if I'd never seen Angel before.  He wasn't the same person, not at all, sure, fierce and protective and all 'grr', like Cordelia says but deadly and dangerous and sure, like that big panther I saw once cross the road in front of me when I still lived in Texas.  My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice when they drew their swords and Wesley and Willow and Mr. Giles started chanting at each other and I suddenly realized why Cordelia hated Buffy Summers.  She was beautiful and she was Angel's first love and you never really ever get over your first love, I know I didn't and even if Angel loved Cordelia, you could see it in his eyes when he faced Buffy, that there was something electric and scary between them, something larger than life and beyond the telling.  There aren't words for what they had, not in English, Latin or Pylean, just something that made you think if you got between them, you were gonna be burnt to a crisp.  _

_So that's why Cordelia stepped into the fight, 'cause she thought Angel would be killed by Buffy.  If she'd just stayed out of it, Wesley said, Willow said, if we'd all trusted Angel and Buffy, things wouldn't be like this.  _

_But they are.  _

_And there's no use crying over spilt milk or dropped diodes or hell dimensions.  Because we have to live in it.  Even if it's hard.  _

_-Fred Burkle, December, 16, 2006_

She stared at what she'd written for a few seconds then carefully replaced the marker and closed her journal.  Setting it back inside the drawer, she laid the pen down on top of it and turned her gaze towards the window.  Slowly getting up, she walked to it, pushing back the curtain so she could see what remained of Los Angeles.  

At night, it didn't seem much different, still lit up like a tree on Christmas morning, but things were changed.  Xander sometimes said that it was like "living in Mad Max's world but with more demons."  It was harder to get food and clothes sometimes, and fuel.  It was like Darwin's theorem come to life sometimes.  The weak didn't make it, not unless they allied themselves to someone willing to protect them.  Sighing, Fred let the curtain close and sank back on her bed.  

"Someone like us," she said to the ceiling as she lay down, pulling the blankets over herself.  "Someone like us."

Her memories mocked her, just a little.  What they said, in Faith's voice, was, "Someone like Buffy.  Someone like Angel."

Swallowing hard, Fred turned on her side and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.  

* * *
    
    _Looking down on empty streets, all she can see_
    
    _Are the dreams all made solid_
    
    _Are the dreams made real_
    
    --Peter Gabriel, _Mercy Street_

Sometimes, when she woke, she wasn't sure where she was.  She'd lie still, feeling an arm around her or her head was pressed against a man's chest and she didn't hear a heartbeat and it would take her back in a lightning strike, back to that time of agony.  Her consciousness would swim for an instant, despair threatening to haul her back down to drown.  Not again, she'd think in horror, not again.  

This evening, she was lucky.  Her eyes opened and she blinked, trying to focus on the face that stared happily down at her.  Warm brown eyes met hers, a flash of white teeth.  Buffy Summers stretched slowly, grinning back.  "Good evening," she said.  "I love you.  Do you love me?"  

Cafell barked back, her plumy black and white tail waving in the air.  

Reaching up, Buffy caught the dog's muzzle.  "Shh," she said, turning her head to look at the face on the pillow next to her, "you don't want to wake Daddy."  The dog pulled free with a snort.     

"That would be a bad idea."

"It's your turn to take the little darling out," Buffy said, nudging him with her elbow.  A dark eye, fringed by marvelously long lashes, appeared out of the pillow.  She was struck by how timeless he seemed, lying here next to her.  And how she didn't want to be anywhere else.  The thought flickered through her mind that she was lying, there was one other place she'd like to be but that time was past.  

"I did."

"Last night.  I took her out while you were stuck in here."  Buffy gestured as Cafell started pawing at the blankets with her snowy white paws.  "It's tonight.  Take your dog for a walk."

That brought a little more of him out from under the covers, not necessarily a bad thing.  Buffy could ogle his chest.  And Cafell was starting to dance on the bed, a sure sign that she was ready to go outside.  Then again, she was always ready to go outside.  "My dog?"

"Your dog.  You're the one who rescued her from that," Buffy leaned back into her pillow, eyeing him up lecherously, "what was it you rescued her from again?"

Angel gave her a glare.  "A K'tlarn," he said.

"Yeah."  She crossed her arms behind her head.  "So, the faster you take her for a walk, the sooner you'll be back and we can go do whatever it is we're doing tonight." 

He raised his eyebrows, looking deliberately from Buffy to Cafell and back again.  "Maybe we're spending the night home with our little darling."

"Somehow, I'm thinking not.  We've got to get food somewhere."  Buffy nudged at him with her elbow again.  "Go on.  Get dressed."

"You first." 

"We're not taking Cafell with us while we try to scrounge food.  That old lady keeps trying to buy her off of us to eat her."

"She's hungry," Angel said gently.  

Buffy bit her lower lip, turning away.  "She's not getting our dog."

"No, she isn't."  He pushed her bangs off her forehead and dropped a kiss there.  "But in her culture, it's all right to eat dogs."

"Well, we're in America.  Or what's left of it.  And we don't eat dogs here.  Knowingly."  Buffy folded her arms, then opened again, beckoning to the dog.  "Right Cafell?  Who's Mommy's girl?  Who's the bestest, prettiest doggy?"  Cafell crashed onto Buffy's chest, lapping at her face.  "Good girl.  Good girl.  I don't need a doggy-tongue bath but what a sweetie."

"Get up," Angel said to her, patting her calf as he sat up.  Cafell leaped off the bed and Buffy ogled Angel's back instead, reaching out to trace her fingers over the tattoo on his right shoulder.  "We need," he said, arching back into her touch, "to get out of this bed."

"Maybe just one of us does."  She pouted for a few seconds as Angel managed to pull away from her.  He went to the closet they shared, pulling out a shirt quickly and putting it on, hiding some of his bare skin from her view.  "Angel," she said, drawing his name out into a whine.     

He glanced over at her, his eyes warming at the sight of her.  It didn't stop him from stepping into the pair of old grey jeans with the rips in interesting places.  When she held out her hands to him, he returned to her, letting her take his hands.  "I have to take Cafell out.  She's practically crossing her legs."

"Mm."  Buffy stretched up to kiss his chin.  "Hurry back."  She let herself drop back into the pillows, her hair fanning around her.   

He touched the tip of her nose.  "We will."  Turning to the dog dancing by the door, he said, "Cafell.  Where's your leash?"  

Her black ears coming alert, the dog made a quick circuit, heading out of the bedroom.  Angel followed her, pausing in the doorway to look back at her.  Buffy smiled.  "Love you."

He gave her a little grin.  "Love you," Angel said and disappeared through the doorway.  

She could hear him talking to Cafell as she plumped up the pillows, adjusting them so she could sleep a little longer.  With a little sigh, Buffy curled onto her side, tucking her arm under her head and drifted off to sleep.  

* * *


	2. In City

All Disheveled Wandering Stars

S J Smith (laughnfx@yahoo.com)

Disclaimer:  I am not now, nor have I ever been, Joss Whedon or any part of Mutant Enemy.  Nor am I the writer of any of the lyrics/poetry included herein.  I'm not making any profit on this and it's taking time away from my original work, so I should stop writing this right now and go back to my own stuff, but they just don't shut up.  

Rating:  Let's start with 'R'

Summary:  "Where she tread, nothing would ever grow again, or that's what we'd been warned."

Distribution:  Geekgirlz-r.us, Adult BA Shippers, His Girl, BA Fluff.   

Spoilers:  Consider everything up to "Rain of Fire" and at least "Conversations With Dead People" to have happened.      

A.N.: If you want to know, some of this story was inspired by the novel, "Ariel".  It was published in the early '80's and no, I don't have a copy of it because the last two chapters made me so mad I threw the book across the room.  (Thought about kicking it for good measure, but that didn't happen.)  Oh, and by the way, if the story edges up to "NC-17" rating, you'll be able to find the remainder at my site, www.GeekGirlz-R.Us.   

* * *
    
    Chapter 2:  
    
    IN CITY
    
    _Open any door_
    
    _Remember everyone_
    
    _You've meet before_

_Oh there's a wicked young man…_

Alice Cooper – _Dragontown_

She's beautiful.

Sometimes, it was all he could think of, that she's beautiful.  Sometimes it hurt too much to think of anything else because she shone so brightly, like a newborn sun.  Those were the times when he'd catch her up and bury his face against her neck, holding her tightly so her heat burned.  And she would know, like she always did and would wrap her arms around him, not speaking, because words were something neither of them had ever really needed with each other.  

But tonight wasn't one of those times.  Tonight, she danced with wild abandon under electric candlelight, the heavy pulse of the bass like a heartbeat beneath his dead flesh.  Men, women, demons, all were attracted to her like moths to a flame, swarming around her, wanting to touch and this time, he watched from the sidelines.  His predator's nose took in the scent of all the people, men and women in heat, strange new drugs, demons; all part of the crowd.  As long as no one recognized them, they were safe.  

Because now it wasn't just the demon world gunning for them.  

Her eyes flashed towards him from the dance floor and he tilted his head to the side, a gesture she recognized.  Without protest, she started swimming out of the pit, her arms flashing over her head, looping around one man's shoulders to get purchase to swing past another.  Slices of skin shone like the moon through the gill slits in her leather dress and she used that as a distraction.  If they saw her body rather than her face, more good luck.  Though he didn't think anyone would recognize her here; it was another nameless city somewhere in North America, big enough that they could remain anonymous, that they could appear and disappear without raising eyebrows. 

Buffy danced over to Angel, her opaline eyes blue under the fake fire of the chandeliers, charged by the peacock purple of her dress.  That was the easiest thing to change, clothing; no more did he wear black and grey and russet, nor she pinks and creams or blacks and reds for hunting.  Now they wore browns and jewel tones, sometimes exotic prints inspired by the dragons that flew overhead, but never, ever, the colors of their old lives.  It had been an almost unspoken decision, when they made their escape, the shedding of the old skins to make way for the new.  Buffy rubbed her cheek against the sleeve of his rich magenta shirt, linking her arm through his.  "Time?" she asked.

Angel glanced out at the floor, the undulating crowds.  "There's probably enough for one or two more dances," he told her.

Buffy flashed him a sparkling grin.  "We'll save them for later."  She tugged at his arm, pulling him towards the exit.  He allowed himself to be maneuvered through the crowds.  They made it to the staircase and past the bouncer; a gargoyle with a head like a skinned goat, the pale topaz of its eyes watching as they all but ran down the stairs.  Buffy didn't bother looking back, she never did.  He always looked, thinking again that someone might have recognized them, that someone might be watching but what was one more human-vampire couple in this brave new world?

"Come on," Buffy said, interrupting his thoughts, her chin tilted skyward.  "Sunrise."

He paid the valet for the return of the motorcycle they'd acquired in the last town and they piled onto it, Buffy's slender arms wrapping around his waist, her soft heat pressed against his back like a welcome second skin.  The Norton rumbled to a start at his touch and they charged out of there, heading back for the place they currently referred to as 'home.'  It wouldn't be home much longer, they made it a point to not stay in one place long and it was getting close to that unspoken date that would send them out on the highways again.  For that they'd need a car, though or something he could hide in during the worst part of the day.  And they needed to decide where to go next. 

As always, Angel drove the bike along a different route home.  They never took the same way twice, even walking.  Sometimes, they would park their vehicle two blocks away and climb the fire escapes, leaping from roof to roof.  Others, they'd find a way into a basement that led to the right building.  Paranoid?  Maybe.  Perhaps it was a way of surviving what they'd done.  

He could sense the dawn fast approaching, his skin starting to tighten in apprehension to that fact.  He guided the motorcycle down a ramp to a parking garage beneath a building.  Buffy slid off, quickly moving aside some boxes and trash to set the bike under, camouflaging it quickly.  When that task had been completed, they started for the stairs.  This ruin wasn't too far from the one they'd been living in for the past three weeks.  It might take a half hour to get there, more than enough time before the sunlight started flooding the streets and the humans and demons that were immune to its deadly beauty would be out in it again, trying to go about their lives.  

He touched her shoulder lightly, his fingers resting a little longer than necessary on the softness of her pale skin.  "Split," Angel said.

"High and low?"  Buffy rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand, nearly igniting it from her warmth.  "If you're not there in twenty--"   

"Thirty," Angel interrupted softly, giving her a smile.

"—twenty-five minutes, I'm coming looking."

"Fair enough."  He dropped a kiss on the corner of her mouth; tasting the drink she'd had earlier, the color that coated her lips, her own sweetness.  "Go." 

Her fingers drifted over his chest briefly and she gave him a look that he couldn't quite read before rising into the morning.  He counted to twenty before turning off into a different way, seeking the grate that led to an underground conduit.  If he concentrated, he could feel her moving on the earth above him, her footprints searing the soil over his head.  Where she tread, nothing would ever grow again, or that's what they'd been warned.  He tried to tell himself it didn't matter, that the only true thing that happened from the war was their reunion.  To think of their lives before the battles, well, that way madness lay.

But Angel could remember it.  Sometimes it rose unbidden in his dreams; what he'd had, what he'd lost.  He once had a son.  He once had a family, a beautiful girl who loved him, a genius little sister, a pair of brothers, one a warrior, the other a scholar.  He once thought that he could hold his own life within the palms of his hands, a reward from the heavens for fighting a war that truthfully could never truly end.  But in the war to end all wars, the one that Mohra had warned him was fast approaching, the End of Days, he realized that there was no end, there was no other life but the one he lived.  And he watched comrades and friends and family fall in that battle and one lone girl facing the hordes of darkness, a stake tucked into the waistband of her jeans, a sword almost bigger than she was clutched in her tiny hands.  He felt the magic that raced through the land, powered by witches and Watchers and friendly demons, all imbuing the little girl with the strength she needed to beat back the demons who threatened to swarm through their world. 

But someone made a mistake.  

And things were never the same again.  

Mostly, Angel could stop the memories there.  Force them back under lock and key, buried deep in the depths of the ocean like the box he'd once inhabited.  This morning was one of those times.  The scent of the sewer brought back others, from farther in the past, memories of breaking a golden girl's heart, twice, while they were confined beneath the earth.  

He shoved those thoughts away, too.  Buffy and he were together now.  And if it wasn't exactly the life they'd dreamed of, it was the life they'd chosen and they would play by its rules.  

The memories must have held him captive because he missed any warning when he climbed out of the conduit.  He forced the grating aside, waited for the count of twenty when it squealed in protest of his rough handling before he pushed it completely out of his way.  And then he was on the surface again, in a basement but still the building that Buffy and he lived in.  All that remained was climbing the stairs.

 "Oh, how beautiful.  Like Hell rising from beneath the earth."

He didn't allow himself to tense.  Instead, he straightened, turning slowly to catch sight of a scarlet and black dress.  A corner of her thin mouth curled up in a smile and she drifted slightly closer.  "Drusilla," he said, keeping his voice completely neutral.  

"Hello, Daddy," she said, the smile widening.  She clapped her hands together.  "Don't you want to know how I found you?"  

"Does it matter?" he asked, seeing the others, ringing the room.  Vampires and demons, joined together.  He wondered who'd put them up to this.  Drusilla wasn't sane enough to lead a gang.    

Stomping one of her high-heel-clad feet, her mercurial temper shifted from delight to anger.  "It does, Daddy.  I've been searching for you for ever so long."

"All right, Dru.  You've found me."  He slid his hand into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, pretending ease.  "What do you want?  To catch up on old times?"

Her lower lip descended in a pout.  "You talk so cruel to me," she said.  "Like you don't really care."  She swept closer, not within range, even Drusilla wasn't that stupid.  Half closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of air and stepped back, her delicate lip curling.  "You stink of the Slayer."

"If you've been looking for me, Dru, you should've known that," Angel said softly.  

"She takes all my lovelies from me," Drusilla said angrily.  "First you, then my Spike.  It's all her fault."

Angel managed not to sigh.  "Dru, what do you want?"

"You, silly.  And my pretty boy, all together again."  She hummed, swaying from side to side so the hem of her dress swung like a bell.  

"Not gonna happen, Dru."

She smiled, wriggling her fingers so the dim light overhead caught the edges of her freshly manicured nails.  "We'll see, Angel."  Her middle finger and thumb snapped and the demons peeled off the walls.  

Angel made the only choice he could and dropped back down the hole.  Above him, he heard Drusilla's shriek of rage as he landed heavily.  Pain shot through one ankle but Angel forced himself onto his feet and started running away from the building, back towards the Norton.  If he could reach it, if he could reach it before they caught him, maybe Buffy would be safe.

A low snarl sounded behind him.  Something was in the tunnel.  Angel didn't bother looking over his shoulder, just tried to increase his speed.  No weapons, he thought to himself, weapons weren't allowed at the club they'd been at earlier.  Sunlight splashed down through gratings and he dodged to avoid it.  No way to surface, not now.  

Something landed against his back, throwing him facedown into the damp muck.  Angel tried to lift his head.  Something palmed his skull, eight fingers wrapping around it.  He tried to shake it off, tried to push to his feet.  The demon dropped into his kidneys, flattening him.  Gripping him by the hair, the demon pounded his face once, twice, three times into the muck.  Angel felt his nose break on the first strike.  The pain caused stars to flare in his eyes.  Still, he tried to break free, managing to wrap a hand around the demon's thigh and pull.  

With a roar, it hauled him upright, dangling him from its grip.  Angel blinked his blurry eyes, seeing a mass of blue fur with bright splotches.  A double set of sharp, yellowed teeth came into view then that eight-fingered hand covered his face and pushed him back sharply.  

The back of his skull rapped against the cement wall.  His vision fogging out, Angel whispered, "Please…" as everything slowly faded to black. 

* * *

Cafell had food.  

It was the one normal thing Buffy could provide now.  Cafell had food.  Everything else could go hang.

She watched the border collie cross eat in her own neat, particular way, taking a few morsels in her mouth, carrying the bits across the room and then laying down to carefully chew that mouthful.  Buffy wasn't sure why Cafell did things that way.  She'd never had a dog before.  The idea had never really occurred to her to want a dog when she was younger and once she became the Slayer, she really didn't have time for one.  Or any pet for that matter.  Now, she couldn't quite imagine her life without Cafell.  

It wasn't always easy, having a dog.  Cafell was a lot of work.  She needed brushing and bathing and walking and had to be fed.  But she was smart and she was a good dog.  She'd even helped take out a vampire that had jumped Buffy one night, holding it down long enough for a staking.  Buffy didn't know how Cafell knew the vampire was dangerous.  Angel was a vampire and Cafell adored him.  As far as she knew, he didn't smell any different because he had a soul.  "Dogs are trained to be guardians, Buffy," Angel had said when she'd brought up the question to him.  "Humans all smell like humans but dogs know which ones are a threat."

"So, you're saying Cafell knew this vamp was a threat because…why?"

He'd shrugged.  "I don't know.  But I'm glad she did."

Remembering that talk, Buffy bit her lip, leaning heavily back against the arm of the sofa.  "Why didn't you tell me sooner, Cafell?" she asked the dog.  "Why didn't you tell me Angel was going missing?"  Her fingers toyed with the cross around her neck, twisting it on its chain.  

Two days ago, he'd disappeared.  Two days ago, she'd backtracked down into the basement, found the Norton exactly where they'd left it.  Two days ago, she'd been almost sane.  

Then she lived through forty-eight hours without him.  

Rising to her feet, Buffy stalked around the room.  It was sparse; the furniture consisted mostly of a couch, a bed, some kitchen stuff.  A few shelves.  They didn't need much.  A place to store their weapons.  A place for Cafell to stay.  A place for their books to live.  A haven at the beginning of the day, where they could rest and be Buffy and Angel, not whoever they were posing as this time.

And now it was just a set of rooms filled with memories of a time when he was here.  

Buffy could see the irony in this.  When she was younger, when they were younger, more innocent, Angel's disappearance for a day or two was no real cause for alarm.  It was more something to be taken for granted.  Sort of a 'here he is, there he goes' deal.  But that was before the battle that broke down the walls between the worlds.  If she let herself think on it, it would send her careening over the edge of madness.  

Angel was alive.  She would know if he died, if someone had gotten a lucky day and managed to dust him and the news would've been all over this town if someone had taken down Angelus.  It wasn't a secret the demonworld would be able to keep.  Someone would be bragging.  Someone would be celebrating.  Someone would've let it spill.  And so far, nothing had turned up.

Buffy paused in front of a mirror, surveying herself.  Here, at home, she indulged herself in comfy clothes, comfort clothes; things she might've worn before she became a fugitive.  Pale pinks and soft blues, palest greys.  Funny prints that had nothing to do with flames and dragon scales and weird demon writing and all to do with fuzzy bunnies and silly smiling butterflies.  It didn't change what she'd become.  Staring into hardened eyes, Buffy wondered what her sixteen-year-old self would think of the hair, Caribbean blue from the roots to her shoulders, ice white from her shoulders to the small of her back.  She wondered what her mother, Joyce, would say if she could see her daughter, once the sun-worshipper, nearly as pale as a vampire.  She wondered what Dawn would say, if she knew that she and Angel had walked away from everything and everyone they knew.   

But she didn't wonder about it much.  Tossing her hair back over her shoulders, Buffy paced the room again, chewing absently on a cuticle.  Her bare feet took her on an unerring path past the sofa, around the dog dish, near the bookshelves, past the windowseat, back past the sofa.  He was gone and no one was celebrating.  That meant he was still alive.  And if he was still alive, she could find him.  Even if no one in town knew anything, and so far, everyone she questioned had no answers, just sympathy, thinking her one of the many girls in thrall to a vampire, there were other ways to get information.  

They were just a little more messy.   

Cafell lifted her head, her black ears flicking back and forth, her black nose sniffing at the air.  They'd trained her to silence, never knowing when they'd need her to be quiet.  Now the dog rose to a half-crouch and Buffy saw a flash of teeth.  "Not Angel," she muttered to herself, grabbing the nearest crossbow.  Pulling the string, she quickly inserted a bolt and aimed it at the door.  "Cafell, down."  Buffy reinforced her quiet order with the gesture for 'down', trusting the dog to obey her.  

The three-beat knock came on the door slowly, as if someone was trying to make a point.  Licking her suddenly dry lips, Buffy eased towards the door, the padding of her feet on the wooden floor her accompaniment.  She knew how to walk so the boards wouldn't betray her.  Still, the locks, when being shot back, always made that telltale clacking sound.  Buffy scowled.  "Who is it?" she asked in her fiercest voice. 

"The Big Bad, baby."

* * *


	3. The Stolen Child

Chapter 3:

THE STOLEN CHILD
    
    _On the news a nation mourns you unknown soldier, count the cost_
    
    _For a second you'll be famous but labeled posthumous _
    
    _Forgotten sons, forgotten sons_
    
    _Peace on earth and mercy mild, Mother Brown has lost her child _
    
    _Just another Forgotten Son_
    
    Marillion – _Forgotten Sons_

Winter blew through Los Angeles.  The buildings acted like funnels, concentrating the force of the wind, making Faith to huddle deeper into her cracked leather jacket.  She wished she had a pair of gloves.  Her hair whipped around her face and she raked some off her mouth, turning her attention towards the monuments in front of her.

There was one for everyone they lost in that battle, Giles, Connor, Angel, Buffy, Dawn.  At first, Faith had wondered about why the stones stood here in L.A. but a hundred miles now was not the two-hour trip it had been before the Troubles.  It might as well be a lifetime away.  Depending on what might be living on the Hellmouth now, she wouldn't doubt the risk they'd run if they tried to take Giles' body back to Sunnydale.  It was safer, easier, to let him rest here, next to Connor.  The stones for Buffy, Dawn and Angel marked empty earth.  No one had found their bodies.  

The stones were carved by magic, Willow determined that they actually be marked for the people they represented.  There was some sort of joke, death knell humor, Faith thought, over B's stone.  She still remembered Xander and Willow bickering back and forth about some sort of legend that should go on it, something about saving the world.  Willow had laughed, then cried, then laughed again.  But Angel's gang wasn't too up on even Giles being buried there, much less B and Dawnie having stones with Angel and Connor.  Wes had been the one to make peace, insisting quietly that they would work together from now on anyway and that the monuments would reflect it. 

Whatever.  Faith just knew that Angel's gang didn't come out to the stones with the Sunnydale folk and Wes rode somewhere in the middle, like on a seesaw.  She didn't envy him.             

Willow knelt down, spreading her hands over the soil.  A warm blue light flowed from her fingers, soaking into the ground.  Xander coughed, hunching his shoulders.  "Sorry," he muttered.  Faith gave him a faint smile, tucking her hand through the crook of his elbow.  He squeezed his elbow against his side, pressing some warmth back into Faith's fingers and they both turned their attention back to Willow's magic.    

The flowers grew, a riot of colors, too rich and bright for a cold December day.  Faith couldn't name all the kinds, she wasn't even sure of some of the colors, only that the scent was pure and heady.  Wesley took a gulp of the sweet air and sneezed, shaking his head.  "Bless you," Xander said automatically.  Faith reached out to Wes, catching hold of his heavy sweater to drag him closer.  He sniffled and gave her a miserable glance.  The poor guy was allergic to flowers though he wouldn't have stayed away on the anniversary of the battle.  

Willow rose to her feet and backed into Wesley's arms.  He held her gently, as if she were something fragile.  While she'd never been quite the same since the backlash of magic in that last, worst battle, she still was strong.  The fact that she was here today, using her magic to grow the flowers that now carpeted ground before the five stones proved it.  The fact that they were still alive, that they could be here to mourn the loss of their friends meant something else. 

"I guess we should say something?" Xander asked, breaking the whining silence.  He glanced over at them all.  "Shouldn't we?"

Pulling a little free of Wesley, Willow stood in front of the monuments.  "Um," she said.  "Hi, guys.  We wanted to come and say we still miss you.  It's been hard since you went away but we're doing okay."  Her hand drifted behind her and Wesley took it.  "Pretty good.  Oh," she bounced a little on her feet, the wind thoroughly messing her short red hair in its enthusiasm, "we managed to take care of a gorgon the other day.  We didn't lose anyone, either.  We burned the head, too dangerous to even bury it, you know.  It was really creepy, too, with all those snakes."  
  


"Not at all a voluptuous woman with snake hair," Xander said.  Faith squeezed his elbow.  "What?  It's true.  She was ick-worthy." 

"Now," Wesley said, sounding very pompous and Watcher-y, "the gorgon isn't supposed to be a voluptuous woman."

"Oh, yeah?  How come they always look that way in the books?"  Xander turned to look at Wesley.  

"Because they know that young men with the hormonal urges of tomcats might retain the information more if there's a picture to ogle next to the words?"

Willow spun around, ready to get in on this when suddenly the world twisted just a little and Anya stepped out of a swirl of magic.  "Oh, what a surprise," she said, her eyes rolling, "you're fighting, just when I have information that could be important."

Faith rocked back on her left foot.  Magic always took her unawares.  Seemed sneaky.  Better to get it all out in the open, a straight up and up fight.  Not that she couldn't fight dirty, hell, that was her life but Anya's magic, something Willow told her was brought back when the dimensions fell apart, was freaky-weird.  The fact that a nice-looking demon like Anya had once been Xander's girl was even stranger, though.     

"Important?  Important, how?" Willow asked, reaching out to Anya but stopping, glancing back towards the other three.  Wesley lowered the finger he had been shaking at Xander in an effort to make his point and Xander closed his mouth with a snap.  

"Yeah," Faith said, squaring her shoulders.  "Something big?"

"Something bad?" Xander asked.

"If you'd just let Anya speak," Wesley said impatiently.  

She smiled charmingly.  "I have to say that you British men are always so polite."  

"Can we make with the four-one-one, Anya?" Faith asked, stomping her feet.  She couldn't feel them anymore.  "It's damn cold out here."

"Humans.  So frail," Anya said with a sigh.  "All right.  Why don't we go," she glanced around, looking for a suitable place and not seeing any, "back to the hotel.  The others might want to know this, too."

Reining in her frustration, Faith nodded.  "All right.  We'll meet you there."  She watched as Anya twisted the magic of the world and disappeared through it.  "Let's get moving," she said, "We're burning daylight." 

"Oh, I know that one," Xander said, raising a hand.  "John Wayne.  _The Cowboys._" 

Faith shook her head, a snicker escaping before she could stop it.  Sometimes, Xander reminded her of Mayor Wilkins with his enthusiasm.  She never mentioned it, no one had liked the Mayor but her but she'd loved him the way she now loved these people.  "Let's just get back to the hotel before Anya decides we need a little help getting there."  She leaned down to pick up the crossbow at her feet, making sure the quiver was sitting nicely on her hip.  They all followed her lead, Wesley patting the sword on his hip, Xander hefting his double-barrel shotgun, loaded with wooden pellets and silver and Willow, with her own crossbow.  Faith would've liked it if they all had distance weapons but Wes' aim was terrible, even with his glasses.  He made up for it with hand-to-hand skills to almost rival hers.  She met each of their eyes, confirming their readiness to leave and she motioned Xander into point position.  She'd take the back of the line and they'd walk on back to the hotel.  

If they were lucky, someone wasn't looking for them.  A grin slithered across Faith's mouth.  Then again, if they were lucky, someone was.  Following Willow's bright head through the cemetery, Faith glanced overhead, checking automatically for dragons or other flying things.  Never knew when one of them would attack, either.  

"Oh, the fun of it all," she muttered under her breath and picked up her pace a little.  Walking wasn't so hard, she'd gotten used to it a long time ago, even before Sunnydale, patrolling at night, killing vampires, fighting demons.  Before the world as they knew it ended, four years ago, it seemed there were more cars than people.  Now, the only ones that ran were those built without computer chips.  Those old monsters from the seventies and before, heavy as tanks and sometimes equipped like them, those were the cars out on the road when gas could be scrounged.  Angel's car, the GTX, was hidden away carefully along with a store of fuel for emergencies.  People moved around now on bicycles, on foot, in carriages or rickshaws, pulled by other people or demons or sometimes even horses.  You wanna fly across country?  Dragons might take you, for a price.  Or a really good wizard could zap you where you wanted to go…if you were willing to take a risk with teleportation.  Anya might take you, if she liked you that particular day.  And if you had the money and were willing to run the risk, there were trains, old coal burners that were dragged out of somewhere that still ran the tracks.  Faith was just as happy keeping both feet on the ground.  At least she knew where she was going and could make the decisions that way.  And, sure, it meant that Angel Investigations and the Scoobies were kinda stuck in one place but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, was it?  If anyone wanted them, they'd make sure of a way to bring the troops where they needed to be.

"Earth to Faith," Willow called from in front of her, waiting at the cemetery gates.  "C'mon, we don't want to keep anyone waiting."  She waved her hand.  Beyond the gates lay the city of angels, demons and people Faith sometimes wished she didn't know.  And the memories of those who'd fought to keep those people safe.    

Faith twisted, looking back towards the flowers mounded across the ground and nodded.  "See ya guys," she said, and ran to catch her friends.  

* * *

The room was cold and dark, lit by torches and candles, bringing to mind a world ancient even when Angel was human.  Trophies hung on the walls, skins and heads of animals and creatures and some things that Angel didn't know the names of.  A long rug lay on the floor, a path to a dais with a chair atop it.  Two guards flanked the chair, one human, the other the blue furred demon who'd captured him in the sewer.  Together they outmassed Angel nearly three to one.  Drusilla minced in front of him, her high heels bringing the top of her head nearly to his shoulder, her mad smile bright when she glanced back at him.  In her hands she held a silver chain, the links deceptively small, attached to the collar snapped around his neck.  Wounds in the process of healing marked his bare chest and back, more of Dru's little games.  Holy water, crosses, heated metal; all scarred his flesh in the past two days since she'd caught him unaware.  She'd lapped at his pain like it was the freshest blood, practically wallowed in it.  She'd forced his flesh and ridden him until he was spent, then started all over again.  

"Sweet Daddy," Drusilla purred at him over her shoulder, "you'll be good for your Dru, won't you?"  Her mouth pulled into a wicked pout.  "She can hurt you even more than I."

"Who, Dru?" Angel asked, sharpening his eyes, trying to see past the blaze of light ahead of him.

"Shh."  One of her fingers pressed against her lips.  "You'll find out."  Tugging gaily on his chain, she skipped like a delighted child for a few steps, nearly dragging him off his feet.  They reached the dais finally, Drusilla smiling cheerfully at the guards and hauling Angel off to the side.  His own guards pushed him to his knees. Dru stroked his hair, plucking at the thick waves.  "You'll be good for me, won't you, my Angel?  Very good."  She twisted her fingers deep into his hair and forced him to look up at her.  "Or you'll be very bad."

A new voice echoed around the chamber, sounding hollow as it bounced against the stone.  "I'm not sure which idea I like better."  The woman swept in like a queen, her heels rapping somehow against the rug, her bearing as imperious as ever.  She paused in front of Angel and Dru, her eyes sweeping over him like a slow stroke.  "I must say, I didn't expect to see you again.  But Drusilla kept saying you were out there.  I finally let her have her way and look what a present she's brought back for me."

"Yes, a present," Drusilla said, releasing Angel's hair to clap her hands.  

"Lilah."  Angel let his head roll back to eye her.  "Somehow, I'm not surprised you survived the End of Days."

She laughed shortly, tugging lightly at the form-fitting jacket she wore over a long skirt.  "Maybe not, Angel.  I'm a little surprised to see you, though.  When you vanished at the battle, I assumed, obviously incorrectly, that you'd died."  She leaned forward, her hands on her thighs.  "Of course, you're already dead, so that's really semantics, isn't it?"

"What do you want, Lilah." 

"Dru, why don't you go and bring our little surprise back here."  Lilah straightened, folding her arms across her chest, her smile both secretive and triumphant.    

"Oh, may I?"  Dru leaned close to Angel, licking his cheek.  "You'll like the surprise, Daddy."  Her words were a cold caress against his skin.  Bouncing upright, she handed the chain to Lilah in a ceremonial way and skipped off, out of the pool of light, vanishing almost instantly in the darkness.  Faintly, Angel heard a door open and the soft thud of it closing behind Drusilla.      

Lilah handed the leash to one of the guards with her, exchanging it for a long spear.  "Did you ever think, Angel, that maybe it's all about what you want, not what I want?"  She twirled the shaft of the spear in her hands lightly, her grip showing some familiarity with the weight and heft of the weapon.            

Angel felt a worm of fear clutching in his stomach.  Buffy, he thought in mourning then resigned himself to the game.  "I thought we discussed this the last time I saw you, Lilah," he said, "how particularly unhappy you made me."

Grinning, she swiped out with the butt end of the spear, knocking him across the cheek and sending him sprawling.  "But here you are," she said, "alive.  Well, as alive as you can be and still be a vampire."  She leaned on the staff, watching him with a coldly amused smile.  "How is it that another vampire became human and you didn't?"  Her eyes widened when he rocked back in surprise.  "Didn't you know, Angel?"

Angel got back to his knees, trying to cover his mistake.  Never let Lilah get the upper hand.  He knew that.  "Hadn't heard those rumors, Lilah," he said. 

"Oh, they're fact.  I've done my research."  She shrugged slightly.  "I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?  I mean, you becoming human, you'd have a lot less interest to me."  Her smile became more predatory.  "And trust me, Angel, you want me to keep my interest."

"So you can torture me?" Angel asked, "or let Dru do it?"  He glanced at his captors insolently.  "It'll get old fast, Lilah.  You don't have the taste for torture that I do."

She grabbed his chin, quick as a striking snake, squeezing the bones tightly.  "You don't have any idea what tastes I have, Angel," Lilah hissed.  Angel met her blue eyes steadily.  "I've changed since you and I last crossed paths."  She pushed him back and stepped away, using the spear to gesture around the room.  "Don't you see, Angel?  Wolfram and Hart fell in the battle.  We were supposed to come out on top.  The senior partners were supposed to make sure of that."  She turned back to him, a smile fixed firmly in place, the hem of her dress whispering around her ankles.  "But the apocalypse that happened wasn't the one we were planning on.  We weren't set up in place just yet."  Cocking her head to one side, she said, "So we lost just as much as you did."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Angel said and earned a cuff from one of his captors.  Picking himself back off the floor, he twitched his shoulders.  

Lilah prowled around him slowly.  "You'd think that, wouldn't you, but we were supposed to rule the world.  Well, at the right hand of the senior partners, that is.  But Darkness – you do know who I mean, right?  That irritating demon that appeared in the same place as your son – and the First Evil really screwed us over.  They were wild cards, acting together.  If we'd had word of their plans earlier, they would've been nullified.  As it was," she shrugged, just in the corner of his eye, "we lost.  Or some of us did."  She paused directly behind him, reaching out to tousle his hair.  "Magenta isn't really you, Angel," she said.  "I think I prefer your natural color.  Oh, I understand why you changed it, you went into hiding."  Her fingers, cool for a human but still warm to Angel, trailed down his neck and brushed over his shoulders.  He remembered Buffy's touch, so long ago, it seemed.  If only they'd taken the time for that last dance.  "I don't exactly understand why," Lilah went on.  "I mean, you had everything you wanted, right?  Cordelia Chase, your son," she laughed suddenly, "maybe you would've had a grandchild, from what I understand happened between those two."  Her fingers dug into a wound, making Angel gasp and wince in pain.  "You did know, didn't you?  While you and your little playmates were out trying to stop Darkness, your girl was boning your son."

"I know," Angel hissed, tossing a furious glance over his shoulder.  "I knew all about it."

"Didn't it make you angry?" Lilah asked sweetly, her fingers trailing over the Celtic tattoo on his right shoulder blade, then over the newer one, on his left.  "Didn't it make you want to kill them both?"

"No," Angel said through gritted his teeth as Lilah probed another wound.

Her fingers dug in as she leaned over his shoulder to speak directly in his ear.  "Don't lie to me, Angel."

Angel gasped, trying to will away the pain, to concentrate on anything but the pain Lilah was inflicting.  His world narrowed down to the pain in his shoulder and his body became one wince, trying to relieve the agony.  

Lilah stepped out from behind him, running her hand around to his mouth.  Angel tried to avoid her but she caught his lip in her gored fingers, twisting it sharply.  "See?" she asked softly, leaning in again, "it doesn't pay to lie."  Spinning away, she tossed the spear back to a guard and walked out of the pool of light.  Angel tried to focus himself by breathing as he tracked Lilah to a table with a ewer and a bowl, an attendant waiting patiently to pour rose water – he could smell it over his own blood – over Lilah's hands and towel them dry.  Clean up completed, she sauntered back, rising onto the dais and sitting in the chair.  "Now, Angel, I'll ask my question again.  Didn't it make you angry," she dropped her elbows on her knees and laced her fingers together loosely, looking for all the world like an interested aunt, "to know Cordelia was fucking your son?"

Exhale and, "Yes," he said softly, thinking back to that time, the utter despair he felt.  The demon Lilah called 'Darkness" had nearly killed his friends and while he dodged fireballs from the sky, trying to get to them to make sure they were safe, they laid tangled together.  Angel didn't blame them, not really, not anymore.  Cordelia had…not been in love with him and Connor seemed to have adored her.  When he'd finally managed to limp back to the hotel, wanting only to lick his wounds, he'd found the unexpected message on the answering machine – Buffy's voice, clearly worried.  "It's time, Angel.  We're on our way.  Just hold on."

"See?" Lilah asked, dragging him back to the present.  "That was so much easier, wasn't it?"  She crossed her legs, swinging her dangling foot lightly.  "Drusilla has such a taste for torture, doesn't she?  All those wounds."  

As if the sound of her name conjured here, Drusilla pranced back into the room.  "The surprise is coming," she said, her voice low and mysterious.  "All special, gift wrapped for my Daddy."

"We were just talking about you, Dru," Lilah said.  Her expression was patronizing as she asked, "When you were having fun with Angel, did you take advantage of him?"                

Drusilla giggled.  "He was so cross with me, Daddy was."  Her lower lip slipped out into a pout.  "Used to love watching me punish my sweet Spike.  Gave me special presents.  Told me I was a good girl."  She purred, one hand sliding from her collarbone down over her breasts to the cleft of her legs.  "Mm, so good."  Her pointed tongue passed over her lips and she turned her sparkling eyes to Angel.  "A part of him still likes it," she said cheerfully, sidling up to him.  Her fingers slid over his shoulders.  "You crave it, don't you, my Angel?"  Dru leaned over him, nipping at his earlobe.  "Feel like you should be punished for being naughty."

"Even if we like you best that way," Lilah chimed in.

"I don't do naughty any more," Angel said dryly and winced when Drusilla bit  his ear hard.  

"Bark like a dog," she said sweetly, "Grr-rowf.  Grr-rowf."  She whined when he didn't obey.  "Be my puppy?  I'll be your bit-"

"Dru," Lilah said forcefully.  She wagged a finger at the mad woman.  "Angel doesn't like that kind of language.  Do you, Angel?"

"Only when describing you, Lilah."

The cuff came from behind him, rocking him nearly off his knees.  Angel landed on his hands, blinking back the stars.  Lilah waited for him to get back up before she said, "Be careful, Angel.  My men are loyal, a hell of a lot more loyal that Cordelia was to you."  She smiled like a knife's edge.  "Oh, sorry, bringing up bad memories, wasn't I?"

Angel's jaw flexed though he said nothing.  Dru shook a finger at him.  "Careful, Daddy.  I want more fun with you."  She swayed her hips suggestively.  

"You'll have it, Dru," Lilah said.  One of her shoulders lifted in a shrug.  "So will I.  Maybe not immediately, no, but still."  Her smile became more bitter.  "I mean, you have so much to live for, don't you?"  She climbed off the dais and stood in front of him again, grabbing his purple hair to force his head back.  

"What do you know about it?" Angel asked.  Might as well play along.  It couldn't hurt as long as he didn't give anything away about Buffy.  

"The Queen of swords knows you heart, knows your part," Drusilla sing-songed.  "Out of death, she made life.  Sweet, sweet life, a little piece of bait, one, two truffles to lap the filling out of."

"I don't understand half of what she says," Lilah said to Angel, her fingers twisting into his hair painfully.  "But that's all right.  She's obedient, in her own way.  And she's good for giving me hints on the future."

"Let me give you one," Angel said.  "I'm going to kill you."

"Ah-ah-ah," Lilah said, "no threats or I won't show you your treat."

"You have nothing that would interest me, Lilah." 

Drusilla clapped her hands and chortled.  "Oh, Daddy, if you only knew."

Lilah released his head, taking a step away.  "I suppose that could be true," she said, turning her back on him, a flagrant challenge to his inability to attack.  "But I  really doubt it."  Raising her voice, she said, "Corchent, please bring in the other guests, will you?  And Dorshil, maybe you'd better tighten your hold on that chain."  She nodded as the blue furred demon wrapped the small silver links around its wrists, jerking Angel's neck in the process.  "Probably a good thing you can't breathe, Angel."  Lilah smirked.  

The door opened again and Angel could hear something enter the room; the strange rhythm of the demons' pulse, the more familiar two-beat of human heartbeats.  There were two of them, two humans, the stink of their fear making an appearance before Angel could turn to see them.  Lilah waved the others closer, into that pool of light.  

"I'm so glad to see you," she said, even as the pair were knocked to their knees.  "Are you being treated all right?"

"You bitch," a girlish voice spat out, raising the hackles on the back of Angel's neck.  He leaned his weight against the chain only to have Dru haul him back into place.

"I am continuously amazed at your manners," Lilah said charmingly.  

"We're prisoners."  

Angel jerked at the constraints Dorshil put on him, trying hard to verify with sight what his ears were telling him.  

"Not prisoners, not really.  You're my guests."  Lilah smiled at them.  "You have no idea how dangerous it is out there in the great big world."  She lifted her head and waved at Angel languidly.  "You could ask him, I suppose."  Folding her arms, she rocked back on one heel.  "What do you think, Angel?"

"Angel?"  The girlish voice dropped to a near whisper, so familiar, so teasingly, achingly familiar and suddenly, she broke away from Lilah and her captor, flinging herself across the small space to crash into him.  

Angel stared down at her in shock, his arms automatically coming up, nearly wrapping around her.  The scent that rose from her was not quite familiar, not quite…right but she drew back, her blue eyes full of tears that streamed down her face.  "Oh, Angel, I knew you'd come.  I knew it.  I told Connor that you wouldn't leave us here -"

"D-Dawn?"  His voice sounded strange and squeaky to his own ears but he barely noticed, his concentration focused on the other human heartbeat in the room besides Lilah's, beating rapidly and strong, and suddenly the boy broke away from his captors as well, swarming across the room and joining Dawn in Angel's arms.  

"Dad," he said, _Connor_ said, pressing his face into Angel's shoulders.  The tears stung the wounds but Angel didn't care, he couldn't, not while these two were as close as flesh.  He wrapped them in an embrace, kissing the tops of their heads, their arms tight around him, Dawn babbling in relief at his appearance, Connor just hanging on.  

"It's sweet, isn't it, Dru?" Lilah asked, her tone sounding like she believed it anything but.  

"My little brother is with our Daddy again," Drusilla cooed.  

Angel raised his head from theirs and met the ex-attorney's hard eyes.  Unconsciously, he loosened his grip, getting ready for the attack.  Lilah cocked her head to one side, sweeping a strand of hair behind her ears.  "Don't try it, Angel," she said casually.  "You can't break that chain.  It's made from, well, how does that go again?  Fishes' breath, bird spittle, a woman's beard, the meowing of a cat, sinews of a bear and mountain roots."  

"Fenris' chain," Angel breathed. 

"I see you know the reference.  Good for you."  She walked a little closer.  "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to break up this family moment."  Lilah gestured and the guards appeared to haul the children back, breaking their grips on the vampire.  Dawn struggled, her voice rising into a shriek while Connor fought against them silently, his teeth showing.  Neither did any good against their captors, great hulking things even bigger than the furry Dorshil, who held them implacably.  

"Aw," Drusilla said, "tears like stars falling."  She minced towards Dawn, reaching out a slender finger to trace Dawn's cheek. The girl jerked away, her blue eyes furious.

"Don't you touch me," she said, her voice low and cold.

"Be good," Drusilla said, tapping her cheek.  "Or else we won't serve you tea."

"Keep your hands off her," Connor snapped, flinging himself against the grip of his guardian.  His slight weight did nothing to break that grasp, though he didn't relent, his hair flowing around his face as he struggled with his keeper.

"So valiant, don't you think, Angel?"  Lilah tapped the corner of her mouth with a manicured fingernail.  "He really does have 'hero' written all over him."  She stepped in front of the pair of teenagers, her height enough to dwarf both the kids and Drusilla.  None of them seemed to notice.  "If you're a good little boy and girl, I'll let you have more time with your favorite vampire, soon.  If you're bad, well, you won't get a chance to."

The growl rose from Angel's throat before he could stop it.  "Hurt either of them, Lilah -"

She laughed, a tinkling sound like breaking glass as she glanced over her shoulder.  "Hurt them?  Angel, they're my insurance policy.  As long as I have them, I know you'll be good."  She flashed her teeth in a nasty smile.  "As long as I have them, I know you won't try to escape without them.  And I might be willing to make a deal with you."

"What kind of deal?"

Lilah spoke to Connor and Dawn's guards.  "All right, take them back.  You kids be good, you hear?" 

"What kind of deal?" Angel asked, trying to keep from lunging after Connor's retreating form.  "Connor!  Dawn!"  They struggled to return to him, throwing themselves against the grips their captors held them with.  He could smell Dawn's tears from here, hear Connor's heartbeat increase as he fought against the demon that held him implacably.  Both of them were nearly carried through a door that slammed shut behind them, cutting off Dawn's wail and Connor's furious shouting.  "Connor!"

"Aw," Lilah said, stepping in between him and the door his son and Buffy's sister had vanished through.  "Isn't that sweet.  I guess blood is thicker than, well, masculine urges."

He forced his gaze to meet hers, seeing her through a red-tinged haze that let him know the demon's face was firmly in place.  "Lilah, if you hurt either of them," Angel began through sharp vampire teeth. 

"You'll what, Angel?  Kill me?  Take it out on me in kind?"  Lilah shrugged.  "They've been very well cared for, since I brought them back.  That little scroll, remember, that we used to raise Darla?  Guess what, it works on more than just vampires."  

"You wouldn't have brought them back for some reason," Angel snarled.  "What is it?"

"Oh, now that would be telling," Lilah said and laughed again as he growled.  "Careful, Angel.  Don't get all 'grr' with me.  I have what you want and you shouldn't forget it."  She snapped her fingers.  "Drusilla, why don't you take him to that nice little room with the easterly facing windows.  I'm sure he'd like it there."

"Lilah," Angel snapped. 

"No, Angel," she said.  "Don't forget who's in charge here.  It isn't you."  She waved an imperious hand and Dorshil tugged at the chain.  

"Come along, Daddy.  We'll have fun."  Dru pouted at the expression on his face.  "I know what would make you smile," she said, her fingers walking along his shoulders.  "A hot bath, sweet blood and a long rest with me."  Her nails brushed over the tattoo on his left shoulder blade.  Drusilla dropped back with a shriek.

"What is it, Dru?" Lilah asked, rolling her eyes in boredom.

"Those eyes, looking at me," Drusilla said, pointing at the tattoo.  "She's there, like an owl, watching, always watching."  The words snarled in her throat, coming out as tattered whines.  

"Eyes?"  Lilah, curious, drifted around Angel.  

He glanced away as she went past, already knowing what she'd see:  a pair of large eyes fringed with lashes, framed by arched eyebrows, the tattoo seeming as fresh as the night it was done.  He remembered the pain that accompanied the needle pricks, the combined scents of incense and blood; the chanting.  Her voice, soothing until it was her turn under the needle, then his murmurs as he tried to offer her comfort.  Her fingers had clutched his so hard, her head thrown back in agony.  When the work was completed, he'd laved the blood off her shoulderblade with his tongue, more cooling than a compress.  The words echoed in his head, "Where she treads, nothing will ever grow again."  

 Lilah's voice snapped him back to the present.  "This is new.  I don't remember anything about you getting a second tattoo, Angel."

"Seems you don't know everything after all," Angel said, forcing himself to sound cheerful.  

"Maybe not."  Lilah pushed the back of his skull, tilting his head forward to get that much more light on the inkwork.  "This is lovely, Angel, you'll have to tell me who did this."

"Oh, it's pretty expensive," he said, rolling his eyes, almost able to see his antagonist.  "I don't think you'd have the stomach to pay the price."

"See, that just whets my interest," Lilah said, tracing the outline of one of the eyes with her fingernail.  "And Dru's reaction?  Just brings it to a fever pitch."  She nabbed his ear in her fingers and twisted it, hard.  "So, who's eyes are they, Angel?"

"The Slayer's," Dru cried out before he could speak.  "The Slayer's eyes."

* * *


	4. The Uninvited Guest

Chapter 4:  

THE UNINVITED GUEST

_I'm the face you hoped you'd never see_

_But always knew you would_

_I'm the one thing you knew you shouldn't do_

_But did because you could._

Marillion, _The Uninvited Guest_

Spike stared up at the building in front of him.  It was a brownstone, sturdy and unlovely, though some effort had been put into the carved corner pieces for each floor and the huge double doors were mounted into fluted, cream colored rock.  A little thing like the overthrow of the old world would mean little to it; it had been built to withstand the centuries.  Seven chipped steps lead up to those heavy wooden doors and Spike made his slow way up each of them.  On the stoop he hesitated, hand almost touching the brass doorpull but it was a common entryway and nothing blocked him from going inside except his own fear.  

Squaring his shoulders, Spike flicked his cigarette down onto the pitted sidewalk.  With a muttered, "Right, then," he pushed open the door and entered the foyer. 

It was cool inside and dim lights cast murky shadows over the tiled floor.  Doors ran along either wall, ending some space before a lurking staircase.  Beyond the closed doors, he could hear faint sounds, people or demons trying to live their lives.  He didn't really care.  He was here for one reason.  Making his way to the steps, Spike wished for lifts.  There were other things he missed; telly, Manchester United.  There was still dog racing, wasn't too hard to find if one knew where to look.  But right now, he missed a lift to take him to the fourth floor.  

Instead, he climbed the stairs.  On his way up, Spike rehearsed what he'd say.  The rage he'd felt after the Troubles still festered.  Sometimes, it surprised him with its intensity.  The fact that the Slayer would walk away after that battle, leave behind all she had left in the world tore his entrails and ripped his heart.  He hated her for the little vanishing act she'd pulled.  He hated her for going with Angel.  He hated her for taking Little Bit with them, for the three of them not trying to work something out in bleeding Los Angeles instead of running.  

Still, when it came down to it, Spike would rather stick up for the Slayer and her decisions, no matter how much they'd hurt him, than let Chase badmouth Buffy when she wasn't around to defend herself.  Obviously, Chase wasn't about to forgive nor forget the Slayer's role in the final battle.  She could be jealous; there were noises around Angelus' little band of merry men that he was in love with Chase before the battle.  Spike had seen his bloody grandsire and hadn't thought anything about the poufter being in love; more that Angel was furious and not just by the invasion of L.A. by the Scoobs or even Hell, for that matter.  But let Chase and her friends have their little fantasies.  He smoothed the scowl off his face.  The Slayer and Angelus had pulled their little double-cross that no one knew about and when it failed, they just vanished, taking Dawn with them.  No word of warning, nothing.  

Spike paused on the landing, clenching his shaking hands into fists.  Who knew he would still be this mad?  Tamping down that anger, he walked along the hallway, his boots echoing hollowly off the walls.  Most doors still bore brass numbers and Spike soon found the one he was looking for.  Taking a deep breath, he shook his arms to loosen them and rapped on the door three times.  

A fierce voice, barely muffled by the wood, rang out.  "Who is it?"

A thrill ran down his spine, like electricity lodging near his gut.  Spike swallowed convulsively, the words falling out of his mouth without his prior thought.  "The Big Bad, baby."

Nothing came from the opposite side of the door then finally, just as he was raising his fist to pound on it; he caught the faint thumps of locks being shot back.  The clicks were rapid fire and the door suddenly swung open, revealing at first glance a large set of southerly windows, showing the twilight sky; a tattered couch covered by brightly-colored though somewhat faded blankets; books and weapons, side by side along the wall and a black and white dog, coiled tight to the floor, its ears flat against its head and its teeth showing ivory against its black, furled lips. 

Before he could really process it all, a tiny woman stepped into view, wearing pastel clothes that clashed badly with her snowfall and oceanwave mane.  Her feet were bare and her hands held a crossbow, pointed at his chest.  "Spike," she said, her voice crisp and clear, not at all welcoming.  She calmly thumbed the trigger guard on the stock and tilted her head to one side, motioning to him.  "Come inside.  Carefully."

He sidled in, glancing from her eyes to the bow and back again.  Moistening his lips, he said, "Is this how you greet your guests?"

The corner of her mouth jerked up in something that didn't resemble a smile.  "You're not a guest."  With a twitch of the bow, she ushered him deeper into the room.  

Shrugging insolently, Spike walked towards the dog.  "Hello, pet," he said cheerfully to the dog.  It flared its lips to show ivory teeth. 

"Don't."  

"Don't what?"  He spun back around, facing her, taking a good look at the woman he'd been chasing for the past four years.  A part of him noticed she'd put on weight, looked good, not like that scrawny bit she'd been before the battle.  The hair coloring was strange but her eyes still glittered, unmistakable, those pretty gems.  And the way she held herself, still all tough and predatory.  He flicked his gaze past her, around the room.  It didn't look too lived in, more like a camp.  Made sense.  Move often; don't stay in one place too long.  Angelus had drilled it into his head when they ran together.  

"She bites."

Spike gave her a cocky smile.  "You think I don't, Slayer?"

Her eyes narrowed sharply and her finger tightened on that trigger.  "Don't call me that."

"Why not?  It's who you are, right?"  Spike walked deeper into the apartment.   

"I haven't been that girl for a very long time," she said flatly, decisively. 

"Psht."  Spike glanced back at her and rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, you and Soul-Boy didn't cut a swath through those demons in Mexico, trying to raise that snake god.  And who stopped the infant sacrifices at Mount Saint Helen?  Might as well have left a billboard, pet, saying, 'Buffy and Angel were here'.  Still pretty hard to track you down, though.  Angelus hasn't lost his touch at all."  He pushed open a door, seeing a bedroom and walking into it.  Dropping onto the mattress, he bounced.  "Nice.  Firm."

"Get off my bed, Spike," Buffy snarled.  

"What?  It's not like it's gotten much use," he said, watching her expression freeze just that much more.  "Come here, Slayer."

"I'm not playing any games, Spike."    
  


"Neither am I."  He flopped back onto the bed.  "Comfy."  Rolling onto his side, he grinned and patted the coverlet.  "You know you want to.  Been lonely, hasn't it?  He can't give you what you need."

Whatever that thing was on her face, it definitely wasn't a smile.  The dog, now at her knee, wore the same expression.  "Get.  Off.  My bed."  

"All right, all right," Spike said with a sigh.  He slouched towards the door, glancing around.  "Don't see a place for Little Bit.  She share this with you?"  He opened the closet to see two sizes of clothes, tiny and enormous.

"Dawn's dead, Spike."  

He blinked, turning around, his hand still on the doorknob of the closet.  "Say again, pet?"

"I'm not your pet," Buffy snarled.  "Get out of my room, Spike, or I swear I'll sweep you out of it."

Her eyes were crazy as Dru's and still sane.  The electricity humming in his spine changed to ice water.  Spike wondered if she'd actually shoot him.  He hadn't expected a warm welcome but this, this was beyond what he'd ever imagined.  "Dawn's dead?" he whispered through a dry mouth.  "We didn't find her body."

"You wouldn't have."  Buffy tossed her head, her hair settling around her shoulders again.  

"She can't be dead," Spike said, almost to himself.

"She's dead, Spike," Buffy snapped, "as dead as you."

He flicked his eyes to her.  She didn't know?  "Slayer," he began.

She swarmed forward, forcing him back against the wall, the bolt pricking through his shirt and digging into his chest.  "Do not call me that again."  The words were hissed through her teeth, the dog snarling right at her side.  

Funny, Spike realized, he remembered the feel of her mouth under his, even while she was threatening to kill him.  His hand and foot swept at the same time, knocking the bow nearly into the dog.  The string twanged, sending the arrow into the wall at his ribs.  His foot swept her knees, throwing her to the floor.  Spike followed her down, knocking the air out of her when he landed on top.  The bloody dog lunged in, grabbing his jacket and yanking.  It let go to lunge back then started to leap in again.  Spike awkwardly punched it in the nose, sending it flying.  The Slayer drew her knee up between his legs hard.  

Stars exploded in Spike's head.  He let out a keening moan, not even quite realizing it when Buffy threw him off.  She ripped the arrow out of the wall, plaster raining down on him and landed on top of him, her knee in his ribs, one hand forcing him flat on the floor, the other pressing the arrow against his chest.  

"Think you've bloody killed me," Spike panted out with effort.

"That's next," Buffy said grimly.  "Cafell.  Down."  

"Damn it, Sla – Buffy."

"That's another name I don't answer to anymore."  She dug the head of the arrow into his skin.  "Now tell me, Spike, what exactly did you do with him?"

"Him who?" he coughed.  

"Angel."  The name came out like a bullet from a gun.    

Spike blinked tears out of his eyes.  "What in hell are you talking about? – Ow!  Careful with that arrow."

"You're gonna be dust in about three seconds if you don't tell me where he is.  One."

"I don't know.  I was looking for you, not him."  He squirmed and stopped at the dog's growl, too close to his ear for comfort.

"Two."  Her fingers tightened around the arrow shaft, her long hair cascading down around them both, making it both more intimate and more frightening.  He couldn't see anything through that mane, just her face hovering above him, cast in a rictus of fury. 

"Believe me!  I could bloody care less where Angelus is.  I know Chase still wants him but I don't."  Spike felt the skin break beneath the arrow point and the maddening tickle of blood as it started trickling beneath his bunched shirt.  

Her teeth bared as she stabbed down.  "Thre – "

He grabbed Buffy's hand with both of his, gritting his teeth as he warred with the Slayer.  "I don't know where he is.  You gotta believe me.  We need his help, too."

"Help?"  Buffy still kept a close grip on the arrow but stopped trying to shove it through his chest.  

Spike let out a long, relieved sigh.  "It's like this, pet." When she glared, he glared back.  "I can't call you by name," he said.  "What else have I got?"

"Tori."  

He nearly choked.  "Tori?"

"That's my name."  Her voice was cold again and her expression glacial.    

"Tori?"  He tried it out on his mouth.  Still sounded stupid.   

"I can still slay you right now," Buffy warned, the pressure of the arrow point a constant reminder.  

"You don't wanna do that, pe – Tori."  Spike gave her an exasperated look when she pressed the arrow down.  "I'm not joking.  We need you.  The other Slay – Faith – needs help.  Red an' Watcher-boy sent me to find you."

"Willow."

"Yeah.  Chase had some sort of vision, doesn't look good."  He wished she'd take some pressure off his ribs.  She may've filled out some but her knee was still sharp and bony.  

Her expression, softened by the name of her friend, hardened again at the name of the seer. "Tell me something new."

"This is it, Buffy," Spike said, realizing he'd already forgotten the new, stupid name.  "This is the really big one."  

"We've already done that," she said.  "Try again."

"I'm not joking."  What did it take to get through her thick skull?  "We need both of you back in L.A., yesterday."

"I'm not joking either, Spike.  We're not going back to Los Angeles.  The world could end -"       

"Funny you should mention it, pet," he said.  

Her hand tensed on his shoulder, nails digging in through even his jacket.  "What are you saying?"

"That battle we had?  The Troubles?  It was just the appetizer."  Spike let his head thump back against the wooden floor.  "The next war is about to start." 

* * *

The bar was quiet; dimly lit for the more sensitive eyes of those who walked the night, the soft clinks of glass striking together and the gurgle of liquids being poured providing the background for the rise and fall of the noise of the patrons.  Nondescript, known mostly to those in the neighborhood, it held no secrets nor no promises, only that it was a place to buy your poison.  The bartender had the look of one who had seen the end of the world, but so did most everyone else, but maybe his end had come long before the rest.  Thin, greasy-haired, eyes like a fish's and hands nearly as clammy, he asked no questions, just filled orders as he should.  Sometimes it was harder to get what his patrons asked for; sometimes easier.  Depended on who had the juice, how much they wanted for it.  He couldn't compete with the vampire bars with their smorgasbord of fresh young things willing to bare veins to make their bread but he could supply other things, information, for one, because who didn't tell a bartender everything, once the booze hit?  

He scrubbed at the pitted bar top with a rag, whistling under his breath.  He missed the days when there was a TV in the corner, so he could see what was happening in the world but since the Troubles, there weren't any broadcasts.  He'd made do with unlikely bands, wishing he had the name to bring in the high class acts, those who were actual troubadours, like in the old King Arthur stories, but he had to settle for what he could scrounge up, the dregs, the drunks.  Like Stan, that shiftless boy he had working for him. Kid stepped out for a cigarette break, what, thirty minutes ago?     

"Willie!  Another round!" 

Turning, he nodded to show he'd heard and also to check out who was actually asking for a refill.  "You got payment?" he asked, noticing the trio of Fiach demons sprawled around a wobbly table. 

The biggest left the table to weave to the bar, fishing in its pouch to find something.  He, it, Willie couldn't tell the difference, pulled out something to drop on the counter.  "There you go," it slurred.

Willie raised an eyebrow at the marble-sized pearl.  "What am I supposed to do with that?" he asked, thinking he could think of a few wizards who wouldn't mind having it in their possession.  

"It's good," the Fiach snarled, showing three rows of sharp teeth in its slashed crescent of a mouth. 

"For what?"  Willie snatched the pearl off the counter and held it towards the light.  It was a lustrous grey, dark as gunmetal and nearly perfectly round.  Yeah, there were a couple of people who'd like this thing.  "You've already had two rounds.  This might cover part of that for the three of you but if you want more, you need to cough up."  He dropped the pearl carefully onto the scarred wood, fixing the black, dead-looking gaze of the Fiach with his own.  

The Fiach squeaked something at the other two at the table, the sound making the hair on the back of Willie's neck stand up.  The demons at the other end of the bar voiced their displeasure and Willie waved at them in irritation, hoping they'd settle down.  All he'd need would be for someone to make cutlets out of the Fiach and he'd be in a stew.  

"All right," the Fiach said, sliding its webby fingers back in its pouch and pulling out another pearl.  "This should do it, right?"

"Hmm," Willie said, studying the second pearl, white and not nearly so fine as the first.  "Yeah, I guess," he said, thinking it might do for trade.  

The next largest Fiach rose to its feet, grabbing hold of the table to gather its balance before it lurched out of the back door, probably to relieve whatever passed for a bladder in its body.  Willie scooped up the two pearls, secreting them both in a pocket before pouring new drinks for the trio.  The first Fiach took the glasses back to the table and the bartender made a face at the glasses that needed cleaning.  He really had to find some good help.  That kid dared show his face again, Willie was firing him.    

Back in Sunnydale, things ran pretty easily.  You knew where you stood, with the Slayer in town keeping most of the demons in check and the rest of them hitting him up for drinks of one sort or another.  Willie didn't know what brought him to Los Angeles before the Troubles struck; maybe it was that last encounter with the Slayer or that threat from the loan sharks.  He sucked on his lower lip.  Yeah, probably the latter.  Loan sharks were nasty; distant relations to the Fiach over at the table though the Fiach wouldn't dirty their fingers with kittens.  Whatever it was, he'd been here when Henny-Penny's predictions came true and the sky started falling.  

The Fiach pair were whistling again, shooting glances towards the back of the bar.  The lone human patron at the far end of the bar winced and ducked his head, glaring over his shoulder.  Willie wished he could do the same thing but he fixed a smile on his face and kept cleaning.  Damn that kid.  He needed to take a break himself and the boy still wasn't back.  

When the two Fiach lunged from their seats, sending the chairs sprawling, Willie nearly ducked out of reflex.  They flung themselves towards the door in the back, where their companion had disappeared.  The human at the end of the bar threw himself out of the path of their rush, the other demonic customers staring placidly at this display.  Willie glanced at the table, seeing the booze left behind.  

Fiach never left before finishing their hooch. 

Willie hated to get involved, it was one of those things he prided himself on.  Besides, if he left the bar, someone might mess with his till.  Or steal his booze.  But if the high-pitched shrieks were any indication, something was going on outside he needed to take a look at.  Grabbing a tire iron he'd appropriated in a bar fight so long ago he could barely remember it, he closed and locked the till, shoving the key in a pocket and started out from behind the bar.  

His customers, curious, fell in behind him, making him feel like the point man for a ridiculous army.  Willie squelched the thought that he was leading them into some sort of danger, that maybe he should be at the back of this group, made up of mostly muscle and little brains but that didn't stop him from being the first out the door.  

He froze on the stoop, a demon plowing right into him and sending him sprawling.  Willie managed somehow to keep his balance, practically walking on air to keep from coming in contact with what lay in the alley in front of him.  

The Fiach was filleted out like a fishing trophy and Stan, the barback, had his guts ripped open in the same manner.

Willie pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to keep from losing what little supper he'd eaten.  The lone human customer didn't have such luck, spewing almost right on the stoop.  The other patrons all made motions of disgust and picked their way towards the bodies.  One of them, a scrawny little gargoyle, pulled his wings tight around itself, his big eyes showing white at the rims as his nostrils closed in to keep out the smell of blood and other fluids. 

"Hey," Willie said, grabbing the gargoyle's shoulder.  

He flinched, hunching as if he expected to be beaten.  Willie knew exactly how he felt.  "Listen, Randy," he said, "you gotta do me a favor."

"What?" the gargoyle asked in a worried whine. 

"You're the fastest," Willie said, ignoring that tremor of fear that passed through Randy's wings.  "Go to the Hyperion Hotel.  Send someone here."  

"The Hyperion?"  The gargoyle's eyes got somehow wider.  

"Who do you think's gonna do something about this, Lilah in her gilded tower?"  He shook Randy's shoulder.  "You need to go.  Quick like."

"But it's out," Randy moaned, pressing his twiggy fingers to his mouth.  His head swept from side to side, bat ears cupped and listening.  "It's out there, Willie."   

"Yeah and we don't think it can fly," Willie said sharply.  "Get over there now.  They might be able to track it, as fresh as these kills are."  He glanced over at the other customers, discounting them immediately.  None of them had left the bar since Stan went outside except the Fiach and it was dead, too.  "What are you doing still standing around?  Get out of here!"

With a whine, Randy unfurled his wings from his body, nearly knocking Willie over in his desire to be gone.  Willie caught hold of the long wing spar before the gargoyle could take off.  "The Hyperion, right?  Get the witch.  Or the Watcher.  Hell, any of 'em will do.  Just do it!"

Bobbing his round head, Randy pulled his wing free and took a few mincing steps, clearing the bodies.  Once past those, he ran full out, cupping his wings like sails to catch the air.  Suddenly, he leaped from the ground, beating his wings twice and clearing the tops of a building by only a few inches.  Willie squinted, trying to make out that dark form against the sky.  

"It's the mark," the man said, gasping.  

Everyone turned towards him, following his pointing finger to a glistening patch on the building wall.  A bloody handprint had been slapped there, huge and clawed, far larger than a human's print, a weird, pointed thing, like a crown, drawn in blood above it.   Willie swallowed convulsively, glancing back towards the bodies as the other human said, "The Red Baron."  

They used to dance in the garden in the Middle of the night 

_They used to dance in the garden in the_

_ middle of the night_

_They were naked as the day they were_

_ Born skin all bone-china white…_

Concrete Blond – _Bloodletting (the Vampire song)_


	5. Pulse

Chapter 5:

PULSE

He said don't bring tomorrow

To justify tonight

The moon is full – the stars are bright

And the sky is a poisonous garden tonight. 

Concrete Blond – The Sky is A Poisonous Garden

The interior of the Hyperion was always chilly now.  Though they worked hard to make it otherwise, firewood and other combustibles were often too costly to heat a building as large as the old hotel.  Still, it was home and Wesley entered the lobby with a faint feel of relief sinking into his bones.  He set aside his sword in the case nearest the door.  He'd never quite gotten out of the habit of that, leaving the weapons where anyone could reach them.  Faith always secreted at least one on her body and, as she said, one under her pillow since she didn't sleep "with a stitch on".  Willow and Xander kept their weapons in their own rooms, both claiming it was better to be safe than sorry.  The three sisters' magic still kept out undesirables, though in this day and age, it was sometimes difficult to decide who might be evil and who might be asking for assistance.  

Cordelia impatiently tapped a pencil on what appeared to be a ledger and on the other side of the room, Anya had her arms crossed.  Between them were Charles, Fred and Lorne, as well as a few of Charles' gang.  The tension stretched between Anya and Cordelia like a thick thread, making the others uneasy.  Xander, either through ignorance or oblivion, Wesley couldn't make out which, sauntered through that double-edged glare, clapping his hands.  "So," he said loudly and cheerfully, "what have you got for us, An?"

The demon Anyanka, lovely in her human form, rolled her eyes briefly at her one-time lover.  "It certainly took you enough time to get back here."

"Some of us had to walk," Faith said, slinging off her crossbow and setting it on the staircase.

"Willow could've teleported you," Anya said. 

"Last time we tried that, we all had migraines for days," Willow said, shaking her head so her fluffy hair scattered around her shoulders.  "Not a good idea."

Anya sniffed but before she could vocalize an answer, Cordelia cut in.  "Can you please tell us what you found out?"  She widened her dark eyes at Anya, who sniffed again.  

"All right," she said huffily.  "But I hope you know I risked my life to get this information to you."

"So?  Spill it," Gunn said.  When Anya turned a glare his direction, he held up his hands placatingly.  "Just as soon as you want, that is."

Cordelia stomped across the room.  "Can you just get on with it?"  She swung a hand at the Pylean.  "You're a worse drama queen than Lorne."

"Um, cupcake?  I take exception to that," Lorne said, raising a finger and giving Cordelia a careful little grin.  "I'm much more a musical comedy type of guy."

Anya rounded on him.  "Oh, you are not," she snapped.  "Who had to have the sunlight just so before announcing that he'd found a mate?"

Wesley stepped between them all, raising his voice.  "All right.  All right," he said forcefully.  He turned slowly, fixing each of them with a sharp gaze.  "That's enough.  If we're going to continue to work together, as we have over the past four years and longer for some of us, we're going to have to put aside differences so that information can be exchanged."  He paused to fold his arms, making sure no one opened his or her mouth.  "All right.  Anya, if you would please proceed."

"Thank you, Wesley," she said, with a smile.  "I was minding my own business earlier today, sorting through the latest in the vengeance game.  Just for, you know, curiosity sake."  She shook her head.  "You wouldn't believe how many women still consider themselves wronged from the Troubles."  At the clearing of Wesley's throat, she nodded and went on.  "As I was saying, I was just doing what I'm supposed to do as a vengeance demon.  Which, of course I am." 

"We know this part," Cordelia said, sinking heavily onto the couch.  

"Yeah, maybe you could skip the intro and go right into the important part," Gunn said. 

"Do you want to hear this or not?" Anya asked.  "I could just as easily take this to someone else."

"Like someone else would care," Gunn said, almost under his breath.  Wesley caught his eye and frowned.  Gunn stared flatly back and turned away.   

"No, no, we want to know what's going on," Willow said, glancing around nervously.  "Don't we?"

"It's pretty gruesome," Anya said.  

"How gruesome?" Fred asked apprehensively. 

"Well, for starters, the Red Baron's still alive."

"What?" Gunn nearly propelled himself out of his seat.  "I thought we'd gotten rid of him!"

"Obviously not," Anya said with a shrug.

"B-but we killed that demon," Willow said, her eyes shining wide.  "It went down and we set fire to it and everything."  She twisted around to stare at Wesley.  "Did you know about this?  Were there any signs?"

He spread his hands.  "I wasn't sure, Willow," he said. 

"You could've got sure," Xander snapped.  

"People, people," Faith said, stepping down to join Wesley.  "We took out what we thought was the Red Baron.  We weren't right.  The demon was still one of the bad guys.  We still kept it from killing more people."

"She's got a point," Fred said, though she didn't sound quite convinced.

"And just a reminder, I'm not one of the bad guys," Anya said, lifting a hand and keeping it up.  "I'm your in on the demon front."

"Well, one of 'em at least," Lorne said, cocking his head to one side.  He grinned a little too broadly and nodded when Anya turned towards him.  "Why don't I just keep my mouth shut and let you finish telling us what you found out?"

"Thank you."  Anya walked slowly around the room.  "It seems, well, it's true as far as my source could tell, that the Red Baron's just been lying low.  Another body was found two days ago."  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, scowling.  "It's cold in here.  Does it have to be so cold?"

"We can't afford to heat the place," Cordelia said. 

"Maybe you should move."  Anya looked at the ceiling, wrinkling her nose.  

"We're staying," Cordelia said flatly, getting to her feet in case of a face-off. 

"Whoa, ladies, hold on.  Maybe we should get back to the Red Baron," Xander said, stepping in between Cordy and Anya.  Wesley didn't envy him.  His attachment to each woman was well-known in the group and he hated to have them arguing.  "Right, Cordy?  Anya has information she went out of her way to bring to us.  So we'll be grateful."  

Cordelia allowed herself to be led back to the couch.  She flopped onto it gracefully, folding her arms and pouting.  Wesley had to remind himself that she was a mature woman at these times.  It sometimes seemed that she'd never gotten beyond the girl she'd been in high school.  

Xander turned back to Anya, his eyebrows lifting and a sweet, familiar smile offered to the vengeance demon.  "Okay, An, you had news?"

She pouted for a few seconds then threw her arms in the air.  "Oh, all right.  Because it's you."  

"We all appreciate your efforts, Anya," Wesley said.  

"You mean get on with it, don't you."  She nodded.  "All right.  Well, like I was saying, another body was found.  Same as the others, organs pulled out and missing.  The usual." 

"Wicked on the visuals, Anya," Faith said as Fred made a face.  She still had problems with death, despite all she'd seen.    

"Do you really want to hear this?" Anya asked impatiently.  

"We do, really," Xander said placatingly, grasping her upper arms and squeezing them.  Gunn and Cordelia exchanged a glance, both of them sighing in near unison.  

"Well, all right," Anya said, patting Xander's chest.  She took a step away from him, breaking his grip gently and turned her attention to the others.  "As I was saying," she began again.  

Someone pounded on the lobby door.  Faith automatically snatched up her crossbow, training it across the room.  Gunn's team did the same, each of them readying their weapons.  Cordelia sighed, folding her arms.  Gunn rose to his feet, crossing the lobby slowly.  "Looks like some little goblin," he raised his voice to say.  He swung open the door. 

The demon entered cautiously, its black eyes huge in its grey face.  "Gargoyle," it corrected and took a step backwards upon seeing the weaponry.  "Holy sh-"  

"I'm never going to get this finished," Anya said with a flap of her arms, dropping into a chair and sulking. 

"Who are you?" Gunn asked.  

"What do you want?"  Faith's question came nearly at the same time. 

The gargoyle flinched, its wings unfurling in its aggitation.  "He told me you're the good guys," it said. 

"Depends on who you ask," Willow said, stepping into view.  

The gargoyle stared at her unblinkingly.  "Guess you're right about that one."  

"So, you're here for what reason again?" Gunn asked, cocking his head to one side, his lip curling in disgust.  

The gargoyle drew itself up, its wings lifting.  "I was sent here."  
  


"Sent here?" Xander repeated.  

"By whom?" Wesley asked, starting across the lobby.  

"Willie," the gargoyle said. 

"Willie?"  Wesley ran through the names in his head and Willie wasn't one he recognized.  

"Oh, please, can we get on with this," Cordelia all but moaned.  

"Maybe it's important," Fred said. 

"My news is important," Anya muttered to her hands.  

"Anya, please," Wesley said, trying to hold onto the fraying reins of his temper.  

She sighed, a terribly put-out sound but made no other gesture of her own impatience.  Wesley turned back to the gargoyle and said, "This Willie sent you to us.  What is the reason?"

"Oh."  The gargoyle flipped its wings.  "Uh, there were two bodies in back of the bar.  A human and a Fiach.  Both of 'em gutted, that crown and handprint on the wall next to them."

"The Bloody Red Baron," Fred said, her face paling.  She sank onto the couch with Cordelia.  "How terrible."  Cordelia made a sound and Fred patted her arm absently. 

"Told you he wasn't dead," Anya muttered.  

"Yeah," the gargoyle said, shuffling from one clawed foot to the other.  "Willie, he said that you might be able to help.  Or something."

"We are interested," Wesley said carefully.  

"We'll check it out.  Where's this bar?" Faith asked, shifting the position of her weapon.

"You mean you don't know?" Cordelia asked, not quite under her breath.  Faith fixed her with a glare that the brunette ignored.  Wesley felt the ever-present tension between Cordelia and the Sunnydale women rise.  

"Perhaps you can take us there," he said, trying to bring the focus of the others back around to what was important.  

"You mean walk?"  The gargoyle's bald head wrinkled in thought or concern, Wesley couldn't tell which.  "I can't walk well.  I fly."  It flapped its wings once in emphasis.  

"Maybe you can tell us where the bar is," Faith said, glancing around at the others.  "We can make our own way there."

"Right, right," the gargoyle said, eyeing Gunn's men and their weapons.  It rapidly spit out an address and with poorly-hidden relief, scuttled out of the Hyperion to take to the air.  Faith followed it outside, tracking its ariel path then returned to the lobby, surveying all those within.

"Who's going?" she asked.  "'Cause it's about to get dark outside."  

* * *

"Tell me about the tattoo, Angel."  Lilah almost purred.  

"Why should I?" he asked, dodging the expected cuff from one of his captors.  The other kicked him in the ribs, knocking him to the floor.  Angel sucked in a deep breath, feeling the give in his rib cage.  He'd heal, the bones would mend.  It didn't mean it would be pleasant. 

"See?" Lilah said, standing almost over him, her face seeming to float impossibly high above, framed in a rich golden brown halo.  Angel wondered incongruously who dressed her hair.  "Be polite."

Blinking, he slowly pushed himself back upright to a sitting position.  Dorshil roughly hauled him back to his knees, snapping the chain as he did.  As the ex-attorney prowled around him, Angel quickly assessed his wounds.  Drusilla hadn't fed him anything over the past two days and he'd need blood to heal, preferably before Lilah, Dru or one of their henchmen decided to play with him.  

Lilah stepped in front of him again, folding her arms in that elegant way she had  "Dru, why don't you like Angel's new tattoo?"

"She knows," Drusilla said, nearly spitting the words.  Her whine built to a crescendo, her fingers snarling in the air.  "She'll follow Daddy.  Like a dog on a lead and twice as nasty."  Her crimson lips drew back to show the white of her teeth.  "She'll kill to get to him, you, me."  Suddenly, her whole body went lax, as if she were a marionette and the puppet master cut her strings.  "She turns our family against us, Daddy."  Drusilla's voice was poignant, low and miserable.  "She spins her webs and hatred."  Dru spun, the huntress again, eyes and fangs gleaming, "All to trap me."

Her only reaction a raised eyebrow, Lilah watched the display.  "So, Angel," she said, when Dru left off her speech to mutter about the sun and the stars and clouds that ate them snick, snack, snap, "does the Slayer have a name?"  She smiled when he didn't answer.  "I know Faith has joined your little team of do-gooders.  So it has to be the other one."  Laying a finger against her cheek, Lilah tapped it against her skin.  "What was her name again?  Sunny?  Tiffy?  I know it brought to mind a little yappy dog.  Kathy?  No, that was your sister."  Her grin broadened, slithering across her face as Angel tried to keep any reactions from showing.  He knew she was playing and knew she knew.  "Oh, that's right.  Buffy."

Dru's wail was confirmation.  Lilah barely flicked a glance her way, her attention firmly focused on her prey.  "Buffy Summers.  The one who sent you to Hell.  The one who's blood you drank."  She paced in front of him, only going so far in either direction, as if tethered to him.  "You know we had operatives in Sunnydale watching her, don't you?  Once we found out exactly what she meant to you, we had to keep a close eye on her.  Never knew when she might be useful…or a detriment.  That pesky soul thing, well, if we'd gotten to you sooner, maybe you wouldn't have had to go to Hell at her hands."  She made a turn on her path.  "Wolfram and Hart were there when Mayor Wilkins tried to eat her.  We were there when you walked away.  We filmed you when you threatened her boyfriend.  We watched you comfort her at her mother's grave.  It was touching, Angel, really."  Her pacing slowed to punctuate her words, her gaze fixed on him and her smile becoming more cruel.  "We were there when you visited the gravesite.  'Buffy Summers.  She saved the world a lot.'  What sort of memorial is that?"  

Angel felt a growl rising unbidden, his body tensing.  He wanted to feel Lilah under him, taste her blood.  "Better than anything you'll ever get." 

"Maybe."  Lilah paused in front of him again.  "Did you know we were there, listening in when you two met after she came back from the dead?" 

"If you knew all that, it's funny that you didn't know what would happen when we met in that battle," Angel said.  Lilah flinched and he had to force himself not to gloat.  Score one for the good guys but she still held too many cards and was playing too close to her chest for him to figure out what she wanted with him.  Or why she'd bring back Connor and Dawn.  If it was them.  Now, without them in front of him, he wondered that their scents weren't right.  He pushed that question aside for now.  He had to get in one more dig at Lilah and her senior partners.  Try to rattle her cage.  "I guess that was one of those little unexpected things, huh?  Something your senior partners hadn't thought of."  Angel shrugged, smirking up at Lilah, letting his voice drop to nearly a whisper.  "The U.S. postal service."

"You were in contact," Lilah hissed, snapping upright, her eyes twin furies.      

"Their nasty souls braid together," Drusilla said suddenly, breaking into the conversation.    

Lilah didn't even look for his reaction to that, just turned towards the mad vampire.  "Really, Dru?"

She nodded solemnly, childlike in that instant.  

"So, Angel," Lilah wheeled slowly back towards him.  "What do you have to say to that?"

He didn't let his smirk falter.  "Maybe you should've done better research."

Her eyes widened then narrowed sharply.  Dorshil jerked the chain, dragging him to the ground before Angel could lunge to his feet and double blows fell almost before Lilah's command.  He felt more ribs break and blood ran anew from the wounds Drusilla had opened.  "Hurt him," Lilah said coldly and Dorshil and Corchent went about doing just that.  Somehow, Angel could hear Dru's laughter, her hands clapping as she cheered on the pair beating him then finally, everything went blessedly black.      

* * *

Dawn climbed on her bed, leaning back against the wall.  She folded her arms over her stomach, squeezing her eyes closed, trying to keep from crying.  Never let them see you cry, never, she told herself, rocking back and forth.  In the next room, she could hear things banging into the walls and on the floor.  She knew Connor was taking out his fury on the inanimate objects in his room.  At least they didn't hit back.  Another crash made her wince and she gulped before shouting, "Connor!  Cut it out!"

There was silence for a few seconds.  Dawn started counting in her head and got to twenty before she heard the soft creak of bedsprings being depressed and a faint thud as Connor fell back aginst the wall.  "Connor?" she asked, turning her head, the paint rough and cool against her cheek.  "Are you…" she swallowed, her throat too tight to let the words pass through.  

"Yeah, Dawn."  His voice cracked before he finished saying the two syllables.  

She closed her eyes, her fingers clenching in the fabric of her pants.  Angel, she thought, that was Angel.  She remembered the bulk of him from before, even beyond the pink hair and the wounds.  The scent of him, the coolness of his skin.  She couldn't doubt he was Angel.  "Connor," she said.

"My Dad."  His voice filtered through the wall brokenly and Dawn ducked her head at the pain in the words.  "He's here."

She turned, pressing her shoulder into the wall, flattening her palm on its surface.  Trembling, she said, "If he's here," her voice trailed off.

"Your sister."

"Yeah."  Dawn nodded slowly, the rough plaster abraiding her cheek.  

"He wouldn't let her die," Connor said.  He sounded strange, hoarse.  "He," there was a pause but Dawn didn't have time to wonder at it.  "He loved her."

"He loved you, too," Dawn protested, hoping it was true.  No, it had to be.  Angel would've never hoped for a child.  Vampires couldn't have kids.  Dawn knew it was one of the reasons he'd broken up with Buffy, or that's what Buffy'd written in her diary.  She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.  I will not cry, she told herself.  I will not cry.  

"I died," Connor said, his voice weirdly muffled.  

"He didn't let you die," Dawn said savagely.  Angel wouldn't do that.  He wouldn't let anyone die, not ever, not even when they deserved it, like Faith when she went bad and hurt them all so much.  

"You weren't there," Connor snapped. 

"No, I was already dead," Dawn yelled back.  "Think, Connor, God, why don't you think?"  She rolled her head on the wall, swallowing down the sobs that threatened to escape her throat.      

There was a long space of silence between them then finally she heard a mumbled, "I'm sorry."  

Dawn wiped at her eyes futilely.  She felt like she was made of water, as much as she wanted to cry here.  "I accept your apology," she said, pleased that her voice didn't even shake.  

Connor wasn't finished though.  "He was protecting her," he said, "your sister.  She went down and he grabbed her and threw me his sword."  

"I don't," she shook her head.  "I don't remember that." 

"You were dead by then."  He didn't say it to be mean.  It was the truth.  Still, the phrase made Dawn wince.  Buffy had watched her die.  She knew that.  She remembered the horror on her sister's face as the magic tore her to shreds.  Dawn was just glad she didn't remember the pain.  Surely it had been agonizing, going from being mortal back to the Key's original form.  Whatever that was.  "He told me to get back to the others," Connor said, breaking into Dawn's thoughts.  "I didn't see the demon until it was too late."

They'd talked about it before, a little bit, what had happened in the battle.  How Dawn had sneaked off to follow Buffy; how Connor had tracked Angel.  They'd both been in the thick of it before anyone had noticed.  Connor had been, well, worried wasn't quite the right word for what he'd felt, watching Angel face Buffy but Cordelia had said it was likely that the Slayer would kill his father.  Dawn had rolled her eyes when Connor said Cordy's name.  She could barely recollect the other girl but what she did remember didn't support the gushy worship she heard in Connor's voice when he talked about Cordelia.  She did understand Connor's wanting to be part of the fight; after all, Buffy had just said that she had to kill Angel's son to keep all Hell from breaking loose.  Dawn had no problem with wanting to protect yourself.  She'd been begging to go on patrol for years now.  Er, then.  Whatever.  Dawn made a face at herself.  She remembered Connor in the battle, tucked up close to Angel, half-hidden behind the vampire's jacket that flared out like a cape.  She remembered Buffy, her blond hair whipping around her face, holding a sword in both hands, facing the only man she'd ever really loved.  

The fight started elsewhere, like they always did.  Dawn wasn't sure how they'd managed to end up in a theatre beneath the streets of L.A., buried for who knew how many years.  She had flashbacks to fighting in that pit when Willow tried to destroy the world, half expecting zombies to come out of the walls.  It turned out to be worse than that, or that's what Connor said but by the time the demons came through the dimensional tear, she was already gone. 

Dawn wondered if it was how Buffy felt, coming back to life.  Except Buffy had to dig her way out of her coffin and Dawn woke up to find herself in a big wooden box guarded by demons, with a tall woman staring in at her.  It was her first vision of Lilah Morgan, who smiled down at her the way Anya smiled at money.  Lilah never told her why she'd been resurrected - another thing Dawn shared with Connor – only that she was disappointed for some reason.  Dawn thought she knew why.  She'd been brought back wrong.  They both had.  

Connor was the one to bring it up, after he'd tried to fight one of the demons holding him.  Dawn didn't know that he'd been super-strong, like Buffy, before he died.  But now he was just a normal guy, from what he said.  And as skinny as he was, Dawn was pretty sure that she could take him if she had to.  Her own difference was more frightening.  Connor talked about what it had been like in Heaven.  Well, not really talked about it, only said that it was wonderful, just like some ranch in Utah.  She didn't have any memories of that, not of seeing Mom or Grandma Heather.  Not of Hell either, thank God.  But Dawn's last memory was of Buffy's face, watching in horror as she died.  Dawn wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean but she thought she might.  

Even if it really, really scared her.  

What if she didn't have a soul?  

Dawn shivered, grinding her teeth together to keep them from chattering.  Oh God, she prayed silently, oh God.  Please help me make sense of this.  

* * *


	6. Shattered

Chapter 6: 

SHATTERED
    
    _I took the old path down, climbing over rocks and stones,_
    
    _The place I knew when I was young,_
    
    _And in my fear I had to carry on,_
    
    _Where no-one else had gone,_
    
    _Looking in the heart of darkness from above,_
    
    _To the man inside,_
    
    _I took my chance and set off for the light,_
    
    _And started the journey of my life…_
    
    Chris de Burgh,  "_Heart of Darkness_"

On his side of the wall, Connor wrapped his arms around his legs, rocking back and forth.  His jaw clenched and unclenched, listening to Dawn's silence.  He hated it when she was quiet.  It let him think, whether he wanted to or not.  There was nothing in the room to distract him, nothing he could look at besides the inside of his memories.  Bland colored walls, bare mattress, a chair too heavy for him to lift.  Dawn said once that the room was smaller than her mother's closet when he'd asked what her room was like.  When he'd first been tossed in here by one of Lilah's demons, he'd paced the floor, seeking a way out.  He'd turned up nothing.  Dawn even suggested trying the ceiling but they both discovered there was no way of escaping the room besides the door they'd each been thrown through.  

Connor slammed his fist into the mattress repeatedly.  If he had his strength, he knew he could go through the wall that separated him and Dawn.  If he had his strength, he probably could've gotten them both out of these cells.  Instead, he could barely recognize this body, not quite his own.  It felt strange and unfinished; weak.  In this body, he couldn't even smell a demon until one was nearly on top of him, much less hear one.  And his eyesight failed him at ten body lengths.  

He remembered hearing, though he hadn't understood it at the time, Lilah saying that Darla, his mother, had been brought back completely human.  "Guess it works that way on all the supernatural brats," she'd said, staring at him as he'd tried to free himself from his captor.  

A dull rage slithered through him, familiar in its flavor.  He wasn't himself anymore, not Connor, son of the vampire with a soul, not Stephen, son of Daniel Holtz.  He dug his fingers into his long hair, pulling at it, his body trembling.  He'd barely begun to figure out who he was and he'd died.  Now he was brought back from the dead as a new person, maybe a demon, how was he to know?  It was wrong, coming back from the dead, he knew that.  He wasn't sure who he was anymore but he knew he hated this body, this weak boy with no survival skills.  

Tucking himself into a ball, Connor leaned his forehead against his knees.  Nothing was the same any more.  Nothing was right.  And even the thought that Angel was here, in the building with him, didn't give him any hope.  After all, the vampire hadn't protected him before.  He let me die, Connor thought, he let me die and now I'm back and I'm not even me anymore.  

The scenes leading to his death were vivid paintings in his mind.  The acrid smoke smell of burning buildings, cars, worse things, clogged his nostrils.  His skin felt puckered from the heat.  And Cordelia had all but ordered him to go to the Hyperion with her.  

Fire continued falling from the sky while they made their way to the hotel.  Connor was reluctant to return there, his body still reacting to the sensations Cordy had introduced him to the night before.  Neither of them had been prepared for the strangers facing off with Angel Investigations in the lobby.  Cordelia amazed Connor, not for the first time, by sailing through all of the tension to reach Angel's side.  

"So," she'd said, folding her arms as she turned to face the intruders, "you saw fire falling from the sky and decided to come help?"

A black-haired man stepped a little forward from the others.  "Something like that, yeah," he said, his voice running on the ragged edge of fury.

"Well, something happened before we got here," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes.  "What is it?"

Fred had blurted out, "They want to kill Connor!" and voices raised immediately, everyone speaking at once.  Though taken aback, Connor thought it made sense.  The demon appeared where he was born.  For all they knew, his birth brought it to this world.  A hollow pit formed in his stomach but he shook it off.  Now wasn't the time to show fear.  Instead, he studied the new faces, searching for their weaknesses.  He'd need to know them if a battle started.  

Connor recognized none of the strangers; a blond man, stabbing his finger at Gunn; a thin redhead, arguing with Fred.  The man who'd spoken first squared off with Cordelia.  Connor barely gave him a second glance.  He knew Cordy could take care of herself and the man didn't look like any type of threat.  A girl, younger than the others, hugged herself off to the side and an older man, maybe her father, Connor wasn't sure, kept an arm around her in comfort.  A  woman flanked the black-haired man, her hands firmly set on her hips. Almost directly in the center of everything was Angel, his head lowered slightly, reminding Connor of a Kishta beast about to charge.  A little blonde woman, her arms folded and her chin held high, stood opposite Angel, the argument roiling around but not quite touching them.  

Connor blinked, watching the pair as they stared at each other.  He'd seen Renwarns stare like that at their prey; a hypnotic gaze he'd learned the hard way was nearly impossible to break.  As the verbal fight started to escalate towards violence, they both snapped their attention elsewhere.  Angel's voice reverberated around the room, outshouting them all.  "Now," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "tell me that again, Buffy.  Tell me why you want to kill my son?"  His hand swept sideways, pointing out Connor to everyone in the room. 

The blonde tightened her jaw.  She didn't bother looking, though everyone else in the room was focused on him, so many eyes at once that Connor felt uncomfortable.  He flipped back his hair, meeting them all with the same murderous smile he'd offered Angel the first time they'd met.  Her voice was almost as low as Angel's but equally dangerous.  "You know why.  I've explained it.  If you can't get it through your thick head that he's the cause of all this -"

"Oh no he isn't," Cordelia interrupted, forcing her way between the pair.  "You're just trying to punish Angel for having a son, aren't you, Buffy?"

The blonde slowly turned towards Cordelia.  "I'm not punishing anyone," she said.  "I'm trying to save the world."

"Again," the black-haired man muttered, though loud enough for everyone to catch it.

"At the cost of a boy's life!" Cordelia shouted, moving into the blonde's space.

Connor tried not to wince that Cordy still thought he was a boy but the scene in front of him was too fascinating to let him think about it long.  "Oh, please.  Like saving the world hasn't cost Buffy her life more than once," the blonde next to the black-haired man said.  

"Ahn," the black-haired man said, in a long-suffering voice then he blinked, realization crossing his face.  "She's right." 

The woman in front of Angel straightened her back just a little more and her chin tilted a little higher to meet Cordy's glare.  "This is my job," she said, her voice level but thick with anger, "it's my call, Cordelia.  I am the Slayer." 

Cordelia's eyes widened then narrowed sharply.  "Not when you threaten my family, it isn't."  She pressed even closer to Buffy.  "You're gonna have to go through me to get to him."

Connor almost smiled at that.  Cordelia was willing to fight for him, even though he was sure he could protect himself from this strange woman and her friends, too.  He sobered abruptly.  Would killing him make the Beast go away?  Was that why the blonde said he had to die?  He focused on the drama in front of him.      

The knife-edge smile that cut Buffy's face obviously startled Cordy.  "Sounds like fun," she said.  

"W-wait just a minute," the older man said, stepping away from the girl.  "Surely we can reach an amicable agreement."

Angel snarled, "Not when my son's life hangs in the balance."

"It's the only way, Angel," Buffy said, still speaking directly to Cordelia.  She said the words very clearly.  "I'm sorry."

"From this side?  You sure don't sound like it," Cordelia almost hissed, her fists clenching.

"Cordelia!"  Angel's voice was like a whip and he reached forward, dragging Cordelia back to his side.  "I'm not handing over my son as a sacrifice, Buffy."

Angel had come to rescue him from the zombies at Wolfram and Hart.  Connor knew that Angel meant it but he could also tell that both his father and Cordelia were taking the threat seriously.  He glanced over the crowd, meeting Gunn's eyes.  The older man gave him the barest shrug possible.  There was still too much going on and Connor didn't really trust Gunn not to hand him over to this blonde woman.  Gunn had made it clear before he didn't trust Connor and the feeling was mutual.  If the world needed saving, Connor wasn't sure that Gunn wouldn't just hand him over to Buffy and her companions.         

The blonde tossed her hair back over her shoulders.  "I guess I have to take him, then."

"You can try," Angel snarled. 

Her smile was more bitter than sharp as she said, "I can do it, Angel.  You know I can."  Connor wondered at that but Cordelia's sharp gasp spoke more than she thought.  So did her shoulders, lifting to come into an offensive position.  She thought the blonde meant it.  Buffy raised her voice.  "This is between you and me."  Her hand swept out to indicate all the others.  "They don't have to be involved."

"Hell with that, Slayer," the blond man said, lurching forward.  "You need us."

"I hate to say Spike's right," the black-haired man said, reaching out to her, "but I gotta go with him on this one, Buff."

"Get out of my hotel," Angel said, venomous, "and take your pets with you."

Buffy recoiled, her eyes widening as if this verbal slap was something she wasn't expecting.  "What did you say?"  Her voice was so soft, it was fairly lost in the crowd.  Connor could read her surprise from his place near the door.  

"Yeah," Cordelia said, "get out of here!"

Thrusting away her reaction to Angel's words, Buffy said, "You know I'm right, Angel," ignoring Cordelia completely.  

Cordelia seethed in response.  Connor knew how much she hated being ignored.  Before she could act, the girl broke away from the older man, running up to Angel.  "You can't do this, Angel," she said shrilly.  "You can't send us out in that!"  She clutched at his arm.  "We can work out something, I know it!"

His face softened.  "Dawn," he said, achingly gentle, "this isn't your fight.  It's between Buffy and me."

"Yeah but I've been there before!  I was the sacrifice last time.  Me!"  She shuddered and Buffy wrapped an arm around her waist, connecting the three of them together.  Connor frowned.  There was so much there, so much he didn't know anything about.  Who were these people?  Why did Cordelia find them a threat, especially the blonde?  Was it the way that she and Angel looked at each other?  The way the girl didn't let go of Angel's arm, even when she relaxed, if only a little, into Buffy's embrace?  "I know how scared you can be, how much it hurts knowing you're the one who has to stop it."  She glanced at Buffy.  "You died for me," she said, her voice almost a sob.  "I don't want you…I don't want anyone to die again."

"It isn't your choice, Dawn," Buffy said.  She gently pulled the girl away from Angel, not taking her eyes off of him.  "We need to settle this."

"You're getting my son over my ashes," Angel rumbled and Dawn shrieked, "No!"

"If that's the way you want it."  Buffy shoved Dawn back into the redhead and lunged forward.  Angel whipped Cordelia out of the way, sending her sprawling into Fred.  He met the blonde's attack, blocking her punch and knocking it aside with his forearm, throwing his own blow.  She ducked out of the way, golden hair streaming behind her, using her momentum to carry herself into a cartwheel and kicking at Angel's face.  

"Weapons!" Gunn shouted and the team scattered.  Connor leaped across the room at Gunn's cry, somersaulting through the air.  He was the first to reach the weapons' cabinet, snatching at the door.  It slammed shut under his hand and he yanked at the handle, trying to pull it open.  

"We need weapons," Gunn shouted, swarming up the stairs towards him.

"It won't open," Connor yelled back, sweeping the room with his gaze.  He realized the redhead was staring at him, her fingers pointed, her expression triumphant.  Showing her his teeth, he kicked at the cabinet, rocking it.      

"You bitch!" Cordelia snapped, her eyes turning white, distracting Connor. 

The redhead flung up her hand, blocking the brilliant ray that Cordelia shot at her.  The beam shattered against her palm, ricocheting into fireworks to rival those outside.  Angel flung Buffy through the path between the two women, distracting them both.  "Buffy!" the redhead screamed as Angel's fist connected with the blonde's chin.  Buffy sailed across the room, slamming into one of the columns.  Her eyes darkening, the redhead's hands spread apart, fingers open wide.  Connor felt his jaw drop as blue lightning ran between her fingers, becoming a huge ball of energy.  

"Dad!" he shouted as the redhead flung it at Angel.  Angel whirled, the hem of his jacket swinging in an arc as the ball of lightning struck him mid-torso, flinging him backwards to land near the blonde.  Beside Connor, Gunn and Fred were pushing over the cabinet, sending it crashing to the floor.  Weapons broke free, sliding into the lobby and Gunn did a predatory leap, snatching up his home-made axe in a forward tuck and roll, landing on his feet next to the dark-haired boy and swinging.

"Xander!" the redhead yelled, her magic knocking Gunn back into Fred, sending them into a heap on the floor.  

Connor raced across the lobby, scooping up a curved sword as he ran, bringing it up in front of him in an arc as he charged the redhead.  He ran over the blond man, sending him flying, leaping into the air and bringing the sword down in an overhead sweep.  "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!"

The blade that caught his turned his stroke and Connor found himself shoved sideways by the old man.  He stood in front of the redhead, panting slightly, his weapon held at ready.  "You don't want to fight me, boy," he said, his blue eyes dangerous behind the glasses he wore.    

"You're trying to kill me," Connor spat out.  "I don't think I have any choice."

"Wes, help us," Connor could hear Fred shouting over the din.  In the corner, Angel and the blonde picked themselves up, leaping at each other again.  The force of their impact sent them through the front door.  Cordelia snatched up a sword and ran after them, avoiding Wesley's grasp.  Connor flashed a grin at the old man and charged out of the hotel after Cordelia.  Behind him, he could hear the fight still going on.  He figured they could take care of themselves.  He had to see how this ended.  

The fight raged through the streets of L.A.  It was all Connor could do to keep up.  The girl, reed thin with long brown hair, somehow managed to keep up with him, as if she could track Buffy the way he found himself following Angel.  He caught sight of others, both struggling against the demons that rose to revel in the chaos the Beast brought and each other.  Connor remembered coming across the Beast itself, its laughter as Angel and Buffy fought in front of it with swords they'd picked up somewhere in the battle.  As Connor watched, the girl nearby, they turned almost as one to face the Beast.  The blonde's sword skimmed across the Beast's skin, sparks flying from it.  Angel's heavier weapon fell on the Beast's arm and bounced off, nearly throwing him off balance.  Somehow, Buffy caught him with her shoulder, keeping him upright.  

"Join me, Angelus, and rule at my left hand," the Beast said, in a voice that sounded like rocks grating together.  

"Sorry, I've got plans tonight," Angel said.  

"Destroy the Slayer, Angelus."

"That's part of the plans."  Angel wheeled back towards Buffy, his sword crashing down on hers.  The Beast's laughter rang through the streets.  It raised one hooved foot and slammed it onto the ground.  Connor shivered, freshening his grip on his own sword and in a swirl of black jacket, Angel and Buffy disappeared into a fissure opening suddenly beneath them.  

"Buffy!" the girl screamed, flinging herself through the hole.  Connor wasn't surprised that Wesley, the old man and the redhead suddenly appeared, the redhead's hands dripping of magic.  With a word, she shot a bolt of lightning into the Beast's chest.  It shrieked, a burn appearing on its chest.  The redhead spoke to the sky as Wesley and the old man chanted, lightning swirling above them all.  

"What the hell's going on?" 

Connor looked over his shoulder at Gunn and Fred, both looking worse for wear.  Cordelia was with them, her eyes wild.  

"I don't know," Connor shouted back over the noise of the rising wind.  

"Where's Angel?" Cordelia said, her hand gripping Connor's shoulder tight enough to bruise. 

Connor jerked his head.  "Down that hole."

"That's it.  There's no way that bitch is gonna kill him," Cordelia said, tearing off her jacket.  "I'm not losing any of my men to that Slayer."  Grabbing her sword, she started for the hole.  

"Cordelia, no!" Wesley shouted, the sound of his voice thin under all the magic.  "Stay back!"

"The hell with that," Cordelia said.  She looked at them all, meeting their eyes in turn.  "She's a Slayer, that means she's super strong.  It doesn't mean she can't be beaten.  Are you coming?" 

Connor didn't bother waiting for their answer.  He charged forward, leaving them all behind, leaping into the opening feet first, holding his sword high above his head.  He landed and rolled, cracking his head against something hard.  Shaking it, he tried to force back the blackness that threatened to swarm over him.  Staggering to his feet, he saw the fighters, blows raining down from either side, their weapons silver arcs and swirls, no longer discernable as blades.  Connor limped forward, finding the girl hitched over a broken chair.  "A theatre," she gasped out, "funny."

"Are you all right?" Connor asked, barely turning his attention from the battle in front of him.  He'd never seen his father move this way, so deadly and fluid and the blonde matched his moves and gave them back like a mirror.  

"My ankle," the girl said with a grimace.  "I might've broken it.  I can't stand."  She grabbed his wrist when he started forward.  "Don't leave me, please."

"It's my fight," Connor said, staring down at her tiny hand, cold against his heated skin.  

She shook her head slowly, her blue eyes huge and shiny with tears.  "No."  A smile, or a grimace, he wasn't sure which, crossed her mouth.  "It's always theirs."  

"But," Connor began. 

The roof overhead creaked and something fell down.  Connor grabbed the girl, hauling her back with him.  They fetched up against a wall as the Beast straightened, shaking its head, dust rolling off of it and flinders of wood flying.  Its slitted eyes swept the room, focusing first on Connor and the girl, then on the fighters.  Its smile was chilling.  

"What is that thing?" the girl asked, her voice tinged with horror. 

"I don't know," Connor said, "but I'm gonna stop it this time."  Setting the girl down before she could protest, he started forward.  The Beast's attention was focused on Angel and Buffy.  His smile grim, Connor crept closer, unable to run through the debris.  Something glittered out of the corner of his eye.  Connor flicked a glance there, suddenly pulling to a stop.  

Angel's sword glowed rich blue, like the lightning that had crashed into the Beast aboveground.  Buffy's was equally as brilliant, nearly blinding in the dim light filtering in from the opening overhead.  Their swords crossed and an arc of light leaped from them, illuminating the room.  The Beast threw up its arm, its eyes not able to adjust that quickly.  

The hair on Connor's arms prickled.  He hesitated, crouching, watching, feeling as if he shouldn't move.  Angel's sword swung again, so very fast that the cleaving air screamed, the blade clashing hard against the blonde's.  The light was somehow brighter, lingering in the close air.  The Beast raged, taking a step towards them.  

"Angel!"  Cordelia's voice rang through the hole.  "I'm coming!"  

"Cordy, no!" Angel howled.

Cordelia flung herself through the opening, incandescent light wrapped around her, vying with the brilliance of the swords.  As if her appearance broke the dam, the blond man leaped through the hole, followed by the dark-haired man.  Turning her white gaze towards the fighters, Cordelia said, "No."  

The swords flickered and Connor sucked in a deep breath, his hair standing on end.  The magic was broken, was wild.  It swirled around them all, the Beast's laughter somehow caught and amplified in it.  Human voices were pitiful compared to that wind though Connor heard a shrill scream pierce the magic.  His head whipped around almost involuntarily and he saw the girl, hauled into the air by the magic, her body limp and her mouth sagging, green light pouring out of her.  

The pressure built between one heartbeat and the next and Connor ducked reflexively, dropping his sword to clamp his hands over his ears.  The explosion rolled over him and he squeezed his eyes closed, curling into a ball to protect himself.  The Lord's Prayer trickled through his mind, giving him something to cling to as the power rippled around him.  He heard something like clothes tearing, though a hundred times louder and jerked his head up, watching in horror as something he couldn't recognize sailed through a hole nearly as large as the Hyperion lobby.  Other things followed it, huge, small; bright, dull; some winged, some clawed, some armored.  All indescribable, even to his demon-jaded eyes.    

Swallowing hard, Connor reached for his sword only to find he couldn't lift it.  A low laugh dragged his attention from the rip in the world and he raised his eyes to see a creature formed of sickly orange, knobbly skin; four huge fists holding various weapons.  Its harsh breath curled around his face and he winced, scuttling backwards as one of the weapons lifted and began its descent towards him.  

The heavy thud showed him how slowly the creature moved.  Connor leaped to his feet, looking around quickly.  He spotted Cordelia, protecting Gunn.  The blond man and his dark companion were fighting back to back and Angel stood over a heap of clothes, a sword in either hand, warding off whatever came near him.  "Connor!" he shouted as he beheaded something that spurted pale green blood.  "Help me!"

Something warm as sunlight washed over him at Angel's cry.  Connor found himself smiling as he tucked and rolled past the aggressive orange demon, already out of its lumbering reach.  He rushed down the path towards where his father was, leaping over a six-legged thing with the body of an insect and the torso, head and arms of something vaguely human.  It clacked at him but he was past it before it realized he was there.  Connor strong-armed a scrawny pink thing out of his way and jumped up onto the platform Angel was on.  

The demon facing Angel was grey-skinned with a head that narrowed down into a snout full of sharp teeth.  Another one crept up on his blind side.  Connor flung himself forward, bowling over the grey demon, grabbing its muzzle and twisting sharply.  The 'snap' of its neck breaking widened his smile.  Angel decapitated the demon nearer to him and gained them each a breather.  "Here," he said, tossing Connor one of the swords.  He leaned over, scooping up the blonde girl. 

"Did you kill her?" Connor asked, shaking his bangs out of his eyes.  

Angel shot him a look, settling the woman over his shoulder.  "No."  He flicked his gaze around.  "We've got to get out of here."

"But she wanted to kill me," Connor began.

"Later, son," Angel said firmly.   

"Cordelia," Connor glanced around then realized she and the others were missing.  His heart plummeted.  She hadn't died, had she?

"They're gone, Connor," Angel said curtly.  "We have to fight our own way out."  He shifted Buffy's weight on his shoulder and gestured.  "You'll have to lead the way, son."

"I don't understand."  Connor fended off a demon that, at the sight of his sword, turned and ran another direction.  "She tried to kill you!"

The six-legged demon crawled towards them. Angel grimaced.  "We'll talk about that when we're all safe."  He growled, the demon face he kept hidden sliding into view.  "Get moving, Connor."

He opened his mouth and took note of the crawling demon, nodding once and slashed his way through the stream of creatures racing through the opening between the worlds.

Connor didn't, couldn't remember how they broke out of that pit, only that they eventually reached the surface.  The world aboveground was already changing with the influx of demons.  Something monstrous clung to a nearby building, huge wings outstretched and fire gouting from its mouth.  Bodies, human and otherwise, already littered the streets.  Connor beat off a demon intent on pulling a screaming woman from her car, stalled against the curb.  She stared up at him in horror, her hands fumbling in her purse and pulled a gun.  He watched in amazement as she turned the weapon on herself, sticking the muzzle in her mouth and pulling the trigger.  Gagging, he turned away from the car as the woman crumpled in the seat, the remains of her skull a mass of red and grey.  A scream alerted him and he twisted back towards the beast on the building, lifting into flight, its wingbeats taking it on an interception course for a jet, falling from the sky.    

"Connor!"  Angel's low voice carried, snapping him from his trance.  "Come on."  He loped along the street, the slight body draped over his shoulder not even a hindrance to him.  Connor followed close behind.  

"What's going on?" he asked when they paused in an alleyway; letting a herd of something blue and shaggy gallop past.    

"The wall between the worlds was destroyed," Angel said grimly.  He'd pulled the woman off his shoulder to check her over, barely paying attention to their surroundings.  He gently stroked Buffy's cheek, his expression tight and worried.  

Connor wondered how Cordelia would feel about Angel's caring for the blonde.  He wasn't going to bring it up though, instead asking, "How do we fix it?"  He flinched when one of the blue shaggies hit the entrance to the alleyway.  It bawled but kept moving.  

Angel flicked his eyes around the alley, up and out.  "I don't think we can," he said.  

"What?"  Laughter threatened to spill from his mouth and Connor wondered at it, why he might laugh in this situation.  "You're not giving up."  He tossed back his hair, not quite keeping the sneer out of his voice as he said, "You're a champion."

His dark gaze fixed on Connor, holding his eyes for a series of heartbeats.  "We were trying to keep this from happening," he said and glanced towards the mouth of the alley again.  His heavy sigh startled Connor as he picked Buffy up.  "This would be easier if you were conscious," he told her limp form, the faintest hint of humor in his voice.  Connor followed as Angel made his way to the entrance of the alley.  

"Oh, God," he whispered, peering wide-eyed from behind Angel's bulk.

The blue shaggies were gone, leaving ruin in their wake.  A car with a flashing light on top of it was overturned, a man in a dark uniform firing a gun at the creatures moving in on him.  As they watched, helplessly, the creatures swarmed, pulling the man down.  He screamed then the sound was abruptly cut off.  One of the creatures, its long snout dripping of blood and strings, swiveled its head towards the alley.  Connor saw it snarl and leave its prey, bringing some of its companions with it. 

"Not that way," Angel said, shaking his head.

"Up?"  Connor pointed to a fire escape as the creatures began making their approach.  

"Give me your sword and go."

Connor took a few steps to build up a momentum and leaped, landing and catching himself before he crashed into the metal barrier that kept him from pitching back into the street.  He leaned over the barrier, seeing the long-muzzled creatures poised at the mouth of the alley.  Angel didn't even glance at them, focused on making the jump.  "Come on, Dad," Connor said.  

Angel tossed both swords up and, as Connor caught them, leaped, a sheer fluid movement.  Connor dropped the swords to grab for the vampire as the structure vibrated.  One of the blades slithered out of reach, falling to the ground in a straight silver streak.  The two men exchanged a glance.  

"Oops."

"Couldn't be helped."  Angel gave him a tired grin.  "Thanks, son."

Connor hesitantly smiled back, hefting the other sword.  "Up?"

They climbed to the top of the building, leaving the snarling pack below.  Connor took the lead now that he had the only weapon.  He was almost surprised that Angel didn't protest but he had his hands full.  The blonde started shaking uncontrollably when they reached the roof, hard enough that Angel nearly lost his grip on her.  

"What's wrong?" Connor asked, nearly wincing when he heard the worry in his voice.  Why did Angel care what happened to this woman?  Why did he care?  Buffy had wanted him dead.  

"I don't know," Angel said, somehow maintaining his grip on the blonde.  "Buffy?  Buffy, wake up."  Her only response was a weird, low moan; her body arching almost hard enough to break free.   

"I heard that she," Connor nodded his head at the twitching blonde, "could kill you."

"She's a Slayer, Connor," Angel said, his voice not changing from the gentle tone he offered the blonde.  "It's her duty to face vampires."  He met Connor's eyes unflinchingly.  "And destroy them."

"So why didn't she destroy you?" Connor asked, a little uncomfortable with the expression on Angel's face. 

"We already played that game," Angel said.  He glanced around.  "We're too exposed up here.  We need to get somewhere safer."

Connor agreed.  It was open on the rooftop, not enough cover.  There were things in the sky and things on the ground and all of them seemed to want to eat them.  He shifted his grip on the sword.  At least they wouldn't go down without a fight.  "How far is it to the Hyperion?" he asked.

Angel raked his gaze over the city.  "A couple of miles."  He paused.  "I think."

Connor dragged a hand through his hair.  "We can make it."

"You can," Angel said.  He cupped Buffy's skull, holding her against his chest.  She let out a faint cry and her body went limp again.  "I'm not sure --"

Connor interrupted.  "I am."  He gestured.  "The buildings aren't that far apart from each other.  We can get past that pack down there and get to the ground.  Maybe underground," he said with a worried glance in the sky.  A pair of winged things were battling up there now, their shrieks audible even over the other sounds rising from the city streets.

"Lead the way, son," Angel said, rising to his feet, the blonde drooping in his arms.  "But be careful."

Connor opened his mouth then snapped it shut again.  Angel wasn't just doing the good father thing, he meant it.  Connor nodded.  "Okay," he said.  

Taking off over the rooftop, Connor made it to the ledge without any problem.  He wished he could plug his ears from the sounds below.  Too much noise, none of it familiar.  Los Angeles was strange after Quor-Toth; these new sounds, though similar, gave him a chill.  He glanced back and waved at Angel, who moved with the speed of a hunting Gnarar, even hampered by the blonde.  "I'll go first, check it out," Connor said and without waiting for a reply, flung himself into the air.  

He landed on the next building over, tucking and rolling to absorb the shock of the landing.  Bouncing to his feet, he made a rapid circuit of the roof.  Nothing dangerous lurked in any of the few places there were to hide.  He made an all-clear gesture towards Angel.  Connor wasn't surprised by the leap that brought Angel and the blonde across the gap.  How many times had Angel startled the others with his predatory grace?  Even Cordelia forgot what Angel was more often than not.  Connor grimaced to himself.  He didn't even want Cordelia to share space with Angel in his thoughts.  

They continued on that journey for the distance of a block and the chaos below didn't end.  Connor wondered if it ever would.  Police cars lined some of the streets, their sirens adding to the cacophony; gunshots echoing around the walls of the buildings.  Angel winced, peering over the side of the building, seeing what was happening below.  "Oh, God," he whispered.  "If we'd known."

"Known what?" Connor asked.  To drop down into that war below would mean his death but he still itched to try it.

"The balance could be that easily upset," Angel said.  

"Huh?" Connor whipped around to face him but the vampire was already moving on, heading for a doorway set into the roof.  He paused next to it, his expression changing abruptly as he glanced from the door to Connor and back again.  Connor wondered at the too-fleeting glimpse he caught of Angel's eyes, the way they changed from one second to the next as he turned to the door and kicked it open.  The metal door boomed as it bounced off the wall behind it.  

Connor stared at Angel in shock.  The force he'd used in opening the door was far more than necessary.  "Whatever's down there knows we're coming," he snapped, sweeping the sword towards the door in emphasis.  

His face still twisted oddly, Angel said in a strange, tight voice, "So sue me."  Without waiting, he plunged into the building, still cradling the woman close to his chest.  Rolling his eyes, Connor took off after them. 

They made it to the ground floor with little problem.  Though some of the walls and floors were saturated with blood, there were few bodies strewn about.  Connor noticed Angel's shoulders sagging and heard him say softly, "What a waste," as he stepped over the body of a man, no older than Connor.  He spared the body a glance; after the zombies, he was wary even when something appeared dead and trailed Angel through the stairway.  Their shoes rang hollowly on the concrete and Connor found himself hating this world with its harsh land and buildings.  At least on Quor-Toth, he could sneak up on things.  

They reached the final door and Angel hesitated.  "I'll lead," Connor said, brandishing the sword.  He checked through the window, seeing nothing unusual on the other side and pushed it open.  Creeping out, he ranged out from the door, senses alert, listening, testing the air, searching for anything out of the ordinary.  Seeing nothing, he waved and Angel moved through the door in a sweep of darkness, the blonde's hair the only bright thing about him.  

"Get back!"  

Connor froze, freshening his grip on the sword's hilt.  A faint click-click came to his ears and he swallowed.  He recognized the sound of a gun cocking now and he knew the damage that they could do.  

"You don't want to do that," Angel said, his tone low and soothing.  "We're not here to hurt anyone."

"Shut up just shut up!"  The man's voice quavered as he stepped out from behind a counter.  

Connor caught the scent of fear, the strong tang of urine carrying off the man.  How had he missed it before?

The gunman moved closer, the weapon sweeping from Connor to Angel and back again.  "What's going on out there?" he asked, his eyes wild, sweat sheening his face.  "Fire from the sky, then those…things.  They ripped Madeline to pieces, right outside the door!  And the sounds," he shook his head, his dark hair glued to his skull, "they ate her while she was still alive."  He choked, squeezing his eyes shut.  "I couldn't do anything.  I was scared, too scared."

"We understand," Angel said.  

The man shuddered, bring the gun back up.  "Shut up," he snarled.  "I told you."  His lips skinned back from his teeth, reminding Connor of vampires he'd faced.  "It's the end of the world, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Connor said, exchanging a glance with Angel, who shrugged.  

"No.  No!"  Squeezing one of his hands against the side of his face, the man somehow managed to keep them both in his sight.  "It's not right."  

"We might be able to help you," Angel said cautiously. 

"Help me?"  The man laughed, a chilling sound.  "Help me?  Who's got the gun, baby.  Who's got the gun?"  He waved the weapon at Connor.  "Put down the pigsticker, boy.  Slow, like.  And you.  Why don't you put down the girl."

"She's hurt," Angel said quickly.  

"Don't care," the man said, a giggle escaping him.  "Put her down."  

Angel obeyed reluctantly, stepping back when the man told him to though he was clearly unhappy with the idea of leaving the blonde lying in the middle of the floor.  Connor found himself sliding the sword across the floor, towards the man who kicked it farther away.  "Now, you two get up against the wall over there.  Hands up, keep 'em up," he said, the mad grin splitting his face.

They both stood against the wall, hands raised as per orders.  The man pranced to the blonde, keeping the gun trained on his prisoners.  Cautiously, he squatted next to Buffy, his fingers trailing across her face.  A wordless protest escaped Angel and the man jerked around to face them again.  "Quiet," he snapped, though the smile remained fixed in place.  The man's fingers drifted lower down her body and Angel tensed beside Connor.  "You know," the man said, giggling, "maybe it's like the Garden of Eden.  I'm Adam and she'll be my Ee --"  

The glass behind him crashed in.  Angel pushed Connor to the floor, protecting him with his body.  Twisting beneath his father's weight, Connor craned his neck, trying to see beyond the shattered glass everywhere.  The man screamed, firing his gun at the scarlet and orange demon that held him at eye level.  The demon grunted as the bullets struck its sharply planed face, throwing the man across the room.  He smacked into a wall and slid down it, his body broken and leaking blood.  The demon stretched its clawed hands towards the blonde and Angel exploded off of Connor, leaping into the air and catching the beast around its thick neck.  His weight threw it off balance, taking it to the ground.  Screeching its rage, it grabbed Angel, hauling him off as it started to its feet.  Connor scrambled across the slick flooring, snatching up his sword.  He charged into the fray.  The demon noticed him and snarled, tossing Angel aside.  Connor jumped, tucking his limbs in close, his forward momentum forcing the sword deep into the demon's chest and knocking it back to the floor.  It roared as Connor planted his feet, tugging on the weapon.  Eyes the color of lemons glared down at him and Connor leaped reflexively, the sword tearing out of the wound.  

The demon clutched at its chest with one clawed hand, a forked tongue flicking out.  "Devil," Connor panted.  "Demon."  He raised the sword.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Angel crawling towards the blonde.  He danced sideways, drawing the demon's attention away from his father.  "You'll go down easy, won't you," he taunted. 

The creature huffed and snorted, its nostrils flaring.  It crawled after him, then with a querulous groan, slithered to the floor.  The thump when it hit was heavy enough to make the ground shiver under Connor's feet.  He grinned ferally, prowling towards his opponent.  He pulled the sword back to cut off its head.  

The demon lunged upright, all its teeth showing in its wide mouth.  It grabbed him tightly, its claws scraping across his clothing.  Gritting his teeth, Connor tried to stab it again.  The thing snarled, twisting its body to avoid the strike.  One hand caught Connor's sword arm, the other dug into his torso.  Its lemon eyes gleaming, it began to pull him apart.  

Connor gasped, kicking out at the demon.  It tucked him closer to its body, keeping him from doing any damage.  Connor struggled against its grip, fear sliding down his spine like a drop of ice water.  The pain increased abruptly and he dropped the sword, hearing it clatter on the cool floor beneath him.  "Dad," he yelled, then louder, "Dad!"  The pain swarmed over him, a fire burning in his shoulder.  Connor wailed in pain, his heartbeat a stampede in his skull, black dots swimming in his eyes.  There was a wet, tearing sound and he blacked out, barely realizing when he hit the floor.  

Somewhere in the distance, the beast screamed again and he could hear Angel's answering roar.  He forced his eyes open, blinking away the specks that threatened to blind him.  

"Connor?  Son?"  Angel's voice.  "Oh, God, son," he said, his voice choppy.  

"Is it dead?"  Connor wondered if the words even got out.  He couldn't quite focus on Angel's face.  The pain in his arm was dulling but he felt cold.  The floor.  It had to be the stone floor.  

"It's dead," Angel said.  He sounded muffled.  "Connor, are you there?"

His pulse was slowing.  Connor forced himself to sit up or he thought he did.  He blinked.  Angel seemed so far away.  "Dad?" he asked.  

"I'm here, son," Angel said, taking his hand, holding it tightly.  "I'm here."  He stroked Connor's face.  For once, his fingers didn't seem cool.  

"Is she safe?" he asked though the words didn't sound right.  Did he actually say them or think them?

"What?"  Angel leaned close, his head tilted so his ear was close to Connor's mouth.  "What is it, son?"  

Connor saw something glowing off to the side.  "Cordelia?" he asked.  Something thudded in his ears, something important was happening but he couldn't remember what.  He blinked up at Angel, wondering why his face somehow became the more familiar one of his father, Holtz.  And then….  

He jerked, remembering the sound of Lilah Morgan's voice, the sight of her outside the wooden cage she'd brought him back in.  The smell of magic coiled in the air, somehow bright and dark at the same time.  He remembered trying to break free of his guards and this body, this puny, human body, failing him miserably.  His first sight of Dawn, drawn and miserable, neither of them being exactly what Lilah wanted.  

She had told them that so many times in the past few weeks.  "Two special, supernatural brats.  You'd think bringing you back from the grave would do me some good."  She'd loomed over them both, trying to cow them.  Dawn just glared back after the first or second session with Lilah.  Later, she'd told Connor through the wall, her voice tight, "Fear isn't an option."  He wasn't exactly sure what she meant but it sounded like the right thing to say.      

"You might still be useful," Lilah had said, smiling at them both as they tried to free themselves from their demon captors.  "Just not exactly the way I planned.  See, I needed the Key or, barring that, the human son of a pair of demons.  What did I get?  A pair of normal brats with some history."  She'd shrugged, prowling in front of them.  "But I might be able to use you as bargaining chips, you know?  Surely someone in the city of angels still wants you."  Her smile became predatory.  "And they might be willing to trade."

Connor shivered, tightening his grip around his knees.  Lilah now had three hostages and she was right, he knew.  Someone would want them.  Someone always wanted them.  He didn't feel the rough surface of the wall cutting into his back as he began rocking, too lost in his misery.      

* * *        


	7. Hero, Misunderstood

Chapter 7:

HERO, MISUNDERSTOOD

Saw you walking on your velvet lawn Is it lonely on the moon? 

_You took a dive and swallowed all you could_

_Did you drink too much too soon?_

_Nothing left for you to fight about_

_And no-one wants to see you try_

_The nearest neighbors are a mile away_

_Does the ocean hear you cry?_

_Punching at the sky_

_They say the King is losin' his grip again_

_They said you're bullet proof, they said you_

_feel no pain _

_It seems the hero is misunderstood again._

-- Marillion, _Gazpacho_

Buffy settled onto the couch with a cup of tea.  Even now, a part of her was still screaming, still in shock over finding out Spike was human.  The idea jolted through her, not quite connecting yet, along with her other, bigger concern.  Spike, human; Angel, missing.  He didn't know anything, Spike didn't.  Funny, it seemed like the sort of thing he would know something about.  Cafell pressed in tight against her curled legs, her chin pillowed on Buffy's thigh.  She watched Spike closely and Buffy thought wryly about pets and owners resembling each other, at least in the way she and her dog both stared at Spike.  "All right," she said, after setting her cup aside.  "Tell me again."     

He sighed heavily and leaned forward, lacing his big hands together loosely.  "Pet," he said, shooting her a glance when she made a noise at his use of the endearment, "I wasn't kidding.  There's something big out there and it's more than we can handle."  He swung a hand out to encompass them, the room, beyond it to the world.  "I know you don't believe me."

Buffy knotted one of her hands in Cafell's ruff.  The collie's ears lifted and fell.  Angel, Buffy thought, Angel ought to be sitting on her other side, his arm looped around her waist, her shoulder pressed into his chest.  If she closed her eyes, she could still feel him in the air around her, like a ghost.  

No.  She snapped open her eyes.  She'd know if Angel was dead.  They'd made a promise, a pact so very long ago, sworn in blood and love and magic.  They'd each know if the other died.  He was still out there, somewhere.  She just had to find him.  

"Earth to Summers."  

Spike's voice intruded and she flicked her gaze towards him.  Some things never changed, she thought, taking in his short, somehow still bleached curly hair.  Spike wore his customary blacks, jacket, jeans, t-shirt; with a rich red shirt unbuttoned beneath the jacket.  Silver chains adorned his neck and wrists and another wrapped loosely around his left ankle.  If she looked closely, she could see the knife he'd hidden in the boot on the same side.  

Other things were different, though, Buffy realized.  A red stud adorned one ear.  She fingered one of her own earlobes, the holes there long healed over.  His hair was a little longer, though not so long that it wouldn't be manageable.  She nodded mentally.  Or give someone a handhold.  Long hair was always a liability in a fight.  Her restless fingers smoothed over a lock of her two-toned hair, tucking it behind her ear.  She still preferred her hair long to short.  And she could always put it in a bun if she knew there was going to be trouble.  

But that wasn't the subject at hand.  She focused her attention sharply on Spike.  "So.  You were telling me about the Red Baron.  Can I go on record and say it's a really stupid name?"

Spike rolled his shoulders in an expansive shrug that went all the way down to his hands.  "Wasn't my idea.  Maybe it was Harris'.  Dunno.  Wasn't paying too much attention at the time."  He stared at the mug on the table next to his elbow, his lips pursed.  "You got anything stronger than tea to go in this?"

"I've gotta move, sweetie," Buffy said to the dog and Cafell rolled her eyes in her long-suffering way.  The collie shuffled over, fixing Spike again with a glare as Buffy rose from the couch, reminding Cafell she had to stay where she was.  Walking into the kitchen, Buffy rummaged under the sink, giving herself some time to think more about what she'd learned in the past hour. 

It was almost too much to wrap her brain around.  A new big bad, wanting to take down the world.  It wasn't anything new, at least not to her.  But she didn't doubt Spike's sincerity.  Buffy would grant that as a liar, the ex-vampire was more convincing than just about anyone she remembered from her former life but for reasons she couldn't quite explain or maybe didn't want to, even to herself, she believed him.  Or maybe it had been the realization that Spike had a heartbeat to go with that soul he'd gotten four years ago.  

She shoved aside a few things, making them clink together, continuing the pretense of her search.  Spike was human.  If there was a weirder thing to ever have presented itself from her past, this wasn't what she'd expected. Buffy slammed the cabinet closed and opened another.  Her memory supplied Angel's voice telling her about something called 'shanshu', of the vampire with a soul living to die.  She'd – they'd – assumed it meant Angel.  

A part of her was bitter that it didn't.  She shoved aside a crock of ointment in irritation.  Not that she wanted Angel to die.  Not that she really wanted Spike to die but if there was one thing in her life she'd learned to count on, it was that vampires were immortal, unless a stake stopped them in their tracks.  To find out that they could be made human, that Spike could be made human – Spike! – was almost too much to take in on top of Angel's disappearance.  

Now Spike wanted to add even more to her plate.  Instead of just worrying about Angel, he wanted her to go back to Los Angeles to help with this new problem.  She pulled an amber colored bottle out, the liquid inside entrancing her for a few seconds.  If they'd stayed, she thought, if only they'd stayed at Dragonskeep.  Buffy sighed mentally.  Trouble would've found them there eventually.  Maybe not in the form of Spike but she knew, they'd decided, it wasn't safe for them to stay there.  

"At least, not then."  Her own murmur startled her.  Buffy's eyes flew open, taking in the wooden door, gaping open in front of her with the bottles and crocks and jars inside.  She could still hear the voices of the friends they'd made.  The sound of their chanting filled her memories.  The pain of the magic being worked.  She shook her head angrily, sending her hair flying and rose from the floor.  "Here you go," she said, returning to the living room where Cafell waited impatiently on the couch and Spike held out his hand for the bottle.  She handed it to him and sat again.  "All right," she said as Spike uncorked the bottle, taking a sniff at the mouth of it.  "I'll help."  Her hand shot up, effectively cutting him off before he could speak.  "For a price."

Spike snapped his mouth closed, understanding dawning.  "Bloody hell.  You've gone mercenary."

Buffy shrugged one shoulder.  "You don't live in this kind of luxury without some sort of payment."  Her smile was ironic as she took in the small apartment.  They would have been leaving it soon, she knew but a pang still slid through her.  She'd liked this old place.  Angel had, too, its huge windows a constant delight to him, drafty as they could be.  What was it about vampires and windows?  

"What sort of price?"  Spike's voice dragged her back and she fixed him with a frown.  He was rubbing his hands together, unconsciously avaristic.  

She toyed with Cafell's closest ear, rubbing the silky black fur.  "Not too big, I think, for the possibility of me saving the world."  Her eyes narrowed on Spike as she said sharply, "Again."

"Don't keep me in suspense, Slayer," Spike said, his voice like rough velvet, rubbing against her skin.  

She ignored her body's reaction to that one-time familiar byplay.  "It's simple," she said.  "Willow."

"Red?"  Spike's eyebrows climbed for his short hair.  "Didn't know you had it in you, pet, but if she's what you want, doubt she'd turn you down."  He leered.  "Wouldn't mind watching."

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Buffy snapped, Cafell tensing at her side.  She pressed her hand between the collie's shoulders to keep her on the sofa.  "I need Willow to track him for me."  

"And rescue him, too," Spike said, his lip curling.

Buffy shook her head slowly, smiling ferally.  "No.  I'll do that myself."  

Spike recoiled slightly from the expression on her face.  "All right then," he said, "it's a deal."

"Just like that?"  Buffy pushed off the sofa, pacing back and forth in front of it.  Cafell's eyes followed her.  "You don't have to ask anyone?  You're in charge there?  What about Giles?"

Spike lowered his head.  "I'm sorry, Summers," he said.  "Rupert, well, he died."

Her voice cracked as she whispered, "Died?"  She fumbled for the sofa, sinking onto it.  Cafell jumped out of the way, returning to push her muzzle under Buffy's chin.  

"Summers," Spike said gently. 

She dashed at her eyes and hugged the dog.  "How."

"It was during the battle."  He sounded reluctant to go on and Buffy gestured at him.  She had to know.  "Red thought it might've been heart failure.  Wasn't a mark on him."  

"How many others?" Buffy asked, straightening.  

Spike pushed out of his seat.  It was his turn to pace.  Cafell watched him again and Buffy could feel the rumble of a non-vocalized growl through the border collie's thick fur.  "How many, Spike?"

He stopped abruptly, facing her, his face cut in harsh lines.  The windows behind him showed the night sky, stars twinkling in it.  Buffy forced down the need for Angel to be with her.  Soon, she promised herself as Spike said, his voice harsh, "Rupert and Connor.  You, Dawn and Angelus.  Red's still with us, and Harris.  And Anya, sometimes.  She's a demon again; guess the magic took her humanity."  He laughed bitterly.  "Wes and your Scoobies pulled Faith outta jail.  Cordelia's still got her gang, plus Gunn's playmates."  His shoulders lifted as if to shake off a chill.  "Brachen demons.  The Hyperion's a haven, Summers.  'We help the bloody hopeless'."

Buffy closed her eyes against the venom in Spike's voice.  She knew, if they'd lived, Angel's and her desertion would have to hurt them.  There wasn't a choice, she told herself.  There hadn't been.  By the time they realized the world was stabilizing, they were so far away from…not even Los Angeles or even California.  Everything.  Lost in their own miseries, together because of circumstance.  It wasn't something she was proud of, just something that happened.  And by the time she and Angel had found themselves again, it seemed too late to go back.  "You can't go home again," she whispered.

"Pardon?"

Pushing her hair back, Buffy rose from the sofa, the steel returning as she said, "Help me pack.  The sooner I save the world, the sooner I can find Angel."

* * *

Nights were long in the City of Angels since the big battle.  Lilah usually had something to while away that time.  It still seemed most of her business was best conducted away from the light of the sun.  Even now, she had associates out in the world, though she didn't have to use the cover of Wolfram and Hart any longer.  She was known in what remained of L.A. as the top player, now that the world had changed.  Everything came to her, the last little squeak of information.  She'd liken herself to a spider in a web but she hated those disgusting things.  Too many legs, too many eyes, just creepy.  

She forced a shiver aside.  Wouldn't do to show any weakness, even in the halls that led to her quarters.  "You never know who might be watching," she said to herself as she gestured to the guard watching the doorway to her private rooms.  The guard, an attractive man whom she'd taken advantage of on more than one occasion, opened the door immediately, lowering his head in subjugation as she strolled past.  She reached out to slide her fingers over his muscular arm as she slipped inside the room, thinking that she might have to make some time to spend with him again, soon.  

The outer room of her suite was decorated with certain aspects in mind; leather furniture, a fireplace that blazed away against one wall, a full bar.  A pair of chandeliers, currently unlit, hung over a large stone table, darkly stained.  A black wooden cabinet hulked against one of the walls, symbols carved into its surface.  More symbols marked the walls; ancient runes, magical words, all designed to focus the power she raised on certain nights.  Now, all she wanted to do was get past this room and into her bedroom, so she could sleep part of the day away.  With luck, she'd dream up something new to do to Angel or perhaps the kids.  A smile flitted across her mouth.  Why hadn't she believed Drusilla about Angel still being alive earlier?  She could have had so much fun with him in her control.  

"Something's made you happy."

Lilah didn't allow a reaction, even if the voice did surprise her.  Mentally, she swore at her luck.  She couldn't allow them to know anything, not yet.  Wouldn't do to tip her hand so soon in the game.  Strolling to the fireplace, past the huge leather sofa that practically engulfed one of her visitors and completely ignoring the other, she tossed a few more logs onto the fire.  "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get warm any more?"  

"Sounds like you're stalling."

"No, just wondering why you're here."  She didn't even want to think about how this pair had entered her rooms.  The wards alone should keep out most anything she didn't invite in.  Walking to the bar, Lilah tossed over her shoulder, "Make yourself at home."  She poured herself two fingers of Scotch and turned, holding up the glass and the bottle.  "Oh, wait.  You already have.  Would you like something to drink, too?"

A perfectly arched eyebrow raised.  "I don't think so."

Shrugging, Lilah tossed back the liquor and poured herself another.  "Maybe I could offer you something else?  Tea?  Diet Coke?  I just got in a fresh shipment."  She smiled brilliantly.  "You'd be amazed what people will kill for these days."  

"You know damn well what I'm here for."  The vehemence in her voice caused her companion's spines to hackle.  

Sauntering back towards the fireplace, Lilah settled into the chair opposite the sofa, leaning back into the buttersoft leather.  "Actually, Cordelia, I don't.   Why don't you tell me."  She smiled over the rim of her glass, taking a sip of the Scotch and holding it in her mouth, letting the liquor burn her tongue before she swallowed.  She wasn't really interested in dealing with the seer right now, especially with her very own personal bodyguard in the form of that demon lurking behind her.  This pair, in their own right, were just as dangerous as Drusilla.  Not that she ever wanted to be in the same room with the three of them, though it would be worth it to see who might come out alive. 

Cordelia leaned forward, her dark hair swinging down to frame her face.  "I had a vision."

Ah.  That could be a bad thing.  Lilah kept the faint smile in place, regarding the pair.  "Really?" she asked, swirling the Scotch around in the glass.  "What sort?"

Her fist slammed onto the coffee table between them, causing the demon behind her to chatter its teeth in an altogether creepy way.  Still, Lilah knew the demon wouldn't attack without provocation.  Which just made these little meetings downright dull.  If you couldn't insult your enemies, who could you insult?  "The Slayer."  The words dripped like acid from Cordelia's lips.  "Remember her?"  Her hand spun around the room.  "She's the one that brought all this down on us."

Lilah pursed her lips, contemplating her liquor.  "You mean," she said, tilting her eyes towards Cordelia, "Buffy Summers."

"Yes," Cordelia hissed.  The demon's chitinous skin gleamed metallic from the firelight as it shifted its weight.  It obviously didn't like the Slayer's name any more than its master did. 

"So.  Did you learn anything from the vision, Cordelia, or did you just come over here, circumvent my guards and take up space in my living room to tell me that the Slayer still exists?"  Lilah finished off her Scotch, setting the glass on the table with a thump.  "Because I already knew she was alive."

Cordelia scowled at her.  Lilah folded her arms and lifted her eyebrows, tapping her manicured fingers on her upper arms.  With a gusty sigh, Cordelia leaped to her feet, pacing around the room.  "The vision showed her coming to L.A."  She touched her demon companion as she walked by it, making the demon croon softly.    
  


"Huh."  Lilah pretended to digest that news.  "Anything else?"

"Isn't that enough?"  Cordelia whirled, the hem of her robe swirling around her ankles.  She spat through her teeth, "You asked me to tell you when – if – I got any info on the Slayer.  Well, four-one-one, Lilah.  She's coming.  And from the vision I got, she ain't happy."  

"Sssslayer," the demon said, hackles rising on its back, like an angry dog's.  The glitter of its insect-like carapace glittered as it rose to its full height, head and shoulders above Lilah.   

She ignored the demon to toy with her lower lip.  "All right, Cordelia, you've brought me the information.  I appreciate it."

"That's it?" Cordelia nearly shivered in her rage.  

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want to know what you're planning on doing with her."  Cordelia moved around in front of the sofa, standing over Lilah.  

This wouldn't do.  Lilah rose to her feet, towering over the brunette.  "Listen, Cordy, what I want with the Slayer is my own business."  She flicked a glance at the agitated demon, trying to swallow her nausea at the sight of its all too human face, peering out at her from that sleek, inhuman body.  "Keep a leash on your bodyguard."

"Leah's a good girl," Cordelia said staunchly, "unlike someone I could name."

"Playground tactics, Cordelia?  I'd think you'd be above them."  Lilah wasn't about to back away from this woman.  It'll never do to let her think that she could cow me, she thought.  "Let's just say I have my reasons for wanting Buffy Summers."

"I want her too," Cordelia all but snarled.  

"Well, I guess what happens to her depends on who gets her first."  Lilah gave Cordelia a lazy smile.  "I'm sure you can understand that."

Cordelia seethed, glaring up at Lilah.  "She needs to pay," she finally spat out.  

"I agree with you on that, sister," Lilah said, reaching past Cordelia to pick up her glass.  She hip bumped the other woman out of the way and sashayed back to the bar, pouring herself another two fingers of Scotch.  Hell, she needed it this morning, with that nightmare sitting in her living room and having to deal with Cordelia, too.  "Let's toast to it."  She lifted her glass to the morning sun.  "Here's to Buffy Summers.  May she rest in pieces."

* * *

It had been a long day.  While packing the Slayer's stuff hadn't really taken that much time, getting someone to haul the boxes to the train station had.  Not to mention finding the Go-Betweens she wanted.  

"What're you gonna do with them?" Spike had asked, as they walked through the city, searching for the little creatures.  

Buffy turned to look at him, her gaze level and cool.  "You'll see," she said, then, in a completely different voice, "Cafell, sweetie, leave it."  She tugged at the dog's leash and it came back into line.  

Go-Betweens were one of those strange anomalies that showed up in the new world.  No one knew exactly what they were, hell, Spike thought, they didn't even much look like each other.  He'd seen Go-Betweens that looked like Tinkerbell and others that resembled little dragons.  One he'd sent to Red once, asking for her help, was nothing more than a giant scarab.  

The Go-Betweens didn't seem to really be alive.  Red wasn't sure if they were or not.  They all kind of glowed, they all carried messages.  None of them seemed to care about payment of any sort, as if carrying the message was all they were designed to do.  Harris once said they were the equivalent of a Babel fish and then went on to explain that the Babel fish was a fish that allowed you to understand any other language in the universe and it was proof that God existed.  Everyone had just looked at him blankly, Chase finally rolling her eyes and saying, "What-ever," in that 'I can't believe you said that' way she had.  Might've degenerated into another verbal spat but Wes stepped in and made the peace.

Whatever they were, they flitted around like manic fireflies, giggling and singing until someone could get their attention.  Then they were all business-like; well, the one who'd flutter down to get the message to be passed on.  The Slayer seemed to know where to go in this town to find the Go-Betweens, though she was starting to give off irritated sparks by the time they'd actually tracked the little buggers down. 

She'd held out a hand and one dropped into her palm, looking like a cross between a dragonfly and a mouse, all metallic colored fur and delicate wings.  Its tail was flattened at the end, sort of a rudder, Spike guessed, watching as it preened, its faceted eyes staring at the Slayer.  

She had to imprint the Go-Between with the person she wanted to send the message to and a cute scowl crinkled her forehead as she concentrated.  The mouse-fly's whiskers twitched once then it became very still, its huge eyes unblinking.  Spike had to look away.  The weird little thing creeped him out.  They all did, truth be told.  Finally, the Go-Between chirped in a bell-like tone and Buffy said, "Forge, Angel's been taken from me.  I'm going to Los Angeles."  Her voice wavered for a second.  "I don't know where I'll be going from there but I might need help getting him back.  I need you…I need your help.  All of you."  She said slowly, clearly, "I need someone I can trust at my back.  Please come." 

She tossed the Go-Between in the air, watching as it hovered for a few seconds in front of her, cheeping its delight then it zoomed off, dodging around the buildings.  The Slayer watched it go, her face set as if carved in stone.  Finally, she raised her hand again and another Go-Between dropped into it eagerly.  Spike thought Dru might've liked this one; it reminded him of the rocking-horse fly from Lewis Carroll's stories.  The Go-Between indicated it was ready for the message and Buffy said, "I'm coming for you, Angel.  Never doubt that."  A ghost of a smile materialized on her face.  "Tell whoever has you that no one messes with my boyfriend."

The Slayer got rid of the second Go-Between, following its flight as she had the first.  The flock hovered overhead for a few minutes then, when Buffy didn't offer a landing place for any more, they swarmed off.  Spike asked, "Bit risky, don't you think, pet?"

"What?"  She finally turned away from the flight path of the second Go-Between.  

"Alerting them that you're coming."

Her smile was chilling and as feral as the one he'd seen back at her apartment.  "You have to give them a warning, Spike," she said.  "Otherwise, there's no sport in it."                  

They made it to the train station, a steam engine stoking up for the trip across country to Los Angeles.  It might've been faster to try to bribe a dragon but Spike didn't have that kind of money and the Slayer didn't suggest that she might.  That meant traveling by train.  Once they paid for their trip, the Slayer refused to be separated from the bloody dog.  She'd come too close to losing the dog before she said, despite Spike's urgings that the beast would be safe in one of the baggage cars.  So they wound up riding there, crammed in with the boxes and everything else.  

Buffy didn't seem to notice the surroundings, making Spike wonder how often she'd traveled this way.  She sat cross-legged, leaning back against one of the boxes she'd packed, full of books and weapons, the dog lying at her side.  Spike huddled across the car, a pack of clothing cushioning his back.  He found himself staring at her, at her curves, so much more lush than the last time he'd seen her.  Buffy lifted her head, staring him down so he was forced to avert his eyes.  "Sorry," he said gruffly, turning his head.  His hand wagged at her body.  "Just seems like not being the Slayer agrees with you."

"You have no idea," she said. 

He turned back at that, his eyes narrowing sharply.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

It was her turn to look away.  "Do you have any idea how hard it is to live up to other peoples' expectations?" she asked, toying with the dog's fur.  

Spike snorted in disgust.  "I think I know," he said.  "Oh, don't give me that look, pet.  You were drownin', that's why you turned to me in the first place.  I knew it.  Your friends didn't but they're thick as bricks mosta the time anyway."  He rocked back to lean against the wall of the boxcar.  "They didn't see it 'til it was almost too late."

Buffy's smile was tired.  "They only saw what they wanted to.  I got lost and there wasn't anyone to help me find my way back."  She dragged her free hand over her hair, her throat moving as she swallowed.  

He scowled.  "What about me?"  

The smile vanished abruptly.  "What you did…what we did, it wasn't about me finding my way back and we both know it."   

"I was there, pet.  You did get better."  He adjusted himself, trying to find a more comfortable position.        

She fixed him with her diamond eyes.  "Better?  I hurt you.  I let you hurt me."

Spreading his hands, Spike tried to interrupt.  "Water under the bridge, pet -"

"No."  Her headshake was firm.  "Maybe for you.  Do you have any idea how long it took me to get over that?"  She thrust her hand at him.  "You went to get a soul because of me."  Her laugh shattered around her.  "Now you're human."  Her voice softened, so he could barely hear it over the clack of the wheels against the rails beneath them.  "I left…I didn't plan to leave.  Neither of us did.  No one will believe it but it's true."  

"Why not?"  Spike started to sidle closer but that damned dog jerked her head up, her lips furling back to reveal her sharp teeth.  Despite his desire to comfort, he stayed where he was, wrapping his arms around his legs to keep from reaching out to the woman across from him.  

"During the fight."  Her gaze met his again and she sighed, her fingers buried deep in the collie's fur.  "Did you…any of you think we didn't have a plan?  That we didn't have it all worked out?"  Her voice quavered for an instant then steadied.  "Angel and I…we shared information.  Through letters."

"Red or Little Bit would've seen 'em," Spike insisted. 

Buffy studied the dog next to her.  "They didn't come to the house.  When I…Mom died, I found some stuff of mine in one of her drawers.  A bunch of letters.  From Angel.  She never told me he'd sent them."  She stroked the dog's spine.  "I…he came after her funeral.  You probably knew that, though."  

Spike shook his head.  "Nope," he said, feeling a faint flare of jealousy.  He'd been busy that night, he remembered, helping Dawn.  Angel had been comforting Buffy.  Who got the better end of the deal?

"I guess no one did, then.  I never told anyone he came."  Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug.  "But after that, when I was cleaning out Mom's room, I found the letters.  She'd opened some of 'em.  I was pretty mad at the time."  Her grin was self-mocking.  "Yay me, I felt something because Mom was reading mail addressed to me.  I'm kinda surprised she didn't just throw them away.  But she didn't.  And I read them all.  And I wrote him back."

Spike shifted, uncomfortable with this knowledge.  He didn't really care about Angelus or the long, drawn out story of his love for the Slayer.  "Mind if you get back to the fight?"

"Just giving you some back story."  Her wistful tone snapped back to the cool one she'd been using since he'd shown up on her doorstep.  "Anyway.  We started writing each other.  Short notes here and there."  Her eyes shuttered as she said, "I called him before we went to fight for Glory.  He wasn't there.  Later, when I came back and I saw him, I found out he'd called to tell me he had to go after Cordelia, stuck in a hell dimension."

"Shoulda left the bint there," Spike muttered, almost under his breath.  He caught Buffy's politely curious expression and waved at her.  "Go on.  Chase.  Hell dimension."

"I guess either Willow or Dawn erased the message.  Can't blame 'em, why would they keep it after I died?"  Her fingers moved hypnotically through the dog's coat.  "But when I came back…after you and I were over, I started writing him again.  Sometimes he'd write me back.  For a long time he didn't."  Her mouth jerked, like a fishhook was caught in it.  "He was under the ocean for part of it."

Spike nodded.  He'd heard this story before, from Wes.  Or one of the others.  He couldn't remember now.  

Buffy seemed a little surprised at his lack of reaction, but went on.  "When he came back from that, he was."  Her body went tense then relaxed.  She took up the story again, leaving Spike with the distinct feeling she'd jumped a lot of storyline.  He knew some of it, they'd passed around stories to while away time at the hotel.  He wondered what Angelus might've told Buffy about his part in all of it.  "Anyway.  When I found out about the Hellmouth, I wrote him again.  This time he wrote back.  Something weird was going on in L.A., too."  Her voice trailed off, Buffy obviously lost in her memories.  "He told me about Connor, didn't leave anything out.  I already knew about him sleeping with Darla."  

She said it so nonchalantly, Spike had to swallow an oath.  He'd have bet the Slayer would've killed Angel, finding out about Darla.  Buffy was never wrapped too tightly when it came to Angel and vice versa.  He wondered if the Slayer knew about Chase and her claims of Angelus being in love with her.  Had the bloody wanker bothered to say anything about that?      

"But he wrote about portents, signs."  Buffy blinked, suddenly coming back to the present, her gaze focused on Spike.  "Between us, and Giles and Wes and Willow, we figured out what it wanted and who.  It wasn't us.  It was Dawn and Connor.  It had to destroy them.  So we figured out the best way to protect them."  Her expression hardened.  "We'd offer ourselves up as bait."  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  "It worked, at first.  But you didn't trust us."

"You kept us in the dark," Spike snapped.  "We all knew how you were around Angelus.  And he was fighting to protect his boy."

"We both were!"  Buffy's shout rang around the boxcar, making her dog lay back her ears and growl at Spike reflexively.  "We were fighting for Dawn and Connor.  We had to make it think I was gonna kill him otherwise it wouldn't work."

"What wouldn't work?" Spike asked, frustrated.  

"The spell.  The binding."  Her hand twisted in the air, making a fist in description.  "The way to make sure the Hellmouth was sealed forever."  Buffy laughed bitterly.  "But no one trusted us."

"If you'd just told us!" 

Buffy swarmed to her feet, looming over him.  Spike stared up at her, her clenched fists, her drawn, angry face, the snarling dog pressed against her knee.  "We couldn't," she said, the words dropping from her mouth like lead weights.  "We didn't know who might be watching, who might tell something without meaning to.  We banked on your listening to us, doing what we said."  She visibly forced herself to relax.  "You didn't.  Because of that, we lost Dawn.  And when we lost Dawn, the walls separating us from the demon worlds fell."

"And then what, Slayer?" Spike asked.  "You left.  You bloody left us there alone."  He found himself on his feet, shouting at her, ignoring the dog that raged at her side, ignoring the snarl that twisted her face.  "We needed you, hell, we needed him too, much as I hate to say it.  And you just walked out on us?  Me, I can almost understand you leavin' me without another word.  But Red and Harris?  Rupert?  Your friends and your old man?"  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, hard enough that her blue and white hair scattered over his hands.  "Why in hell did you leave them?"

She shoved him, sending him flying into the wall of the car.  He slid down it as she stepped over luggage to glare at him, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.  "Did you hear me?" she screamed.  "Did you hear one word I said?  Dawn died because of all of you.  Because we trusted you," her hands went out, indicating not just him, not just the Scoobs but Angel's people as well, "to listen to what we told you and do it.  But no, you all knew better, you knew better than me or Angel.  And because of that, I lost my little sister.  Angel's son died.  His son!  God, Spike, buy a clue!"

Buffy visibly tried to calm herself.  Her voice sounded almost normal as she said, "I told Giles once if anything happened to Dawn, I quit.  Well, guess what, Spike.  Dawn died.  And I fucking quit."

* * *


	8. Edge

Chapter 8: EDGE  
  
* * *  
  
The whistle screeched, a wild, wailing sound, announcing the train's arrival to someplace. Buffy rose, swaying slightly as the car's speed decreased, stopping with a jerk; first one, then another. She rolled her shoulders, smoothing a hand over her hair. Spike got up, mindful of the dog watching him and scooted around her to tug the door open. Scenes rolled by, buildingsstreetspeople, buildings, streets, people, buildings and streets and people, repeating ever more slowly until, finally, they stopped and steadied, a train station filled to capacity.  
  
Cafell stuck her nose out, blinking at the sudden brilliance of daylight, her tail waving slightly. Buffy captured her dog's leash, scanning the station and stepping off onto the platform. Cafell followed eagerly, ears rising and falling with the unfamiliarity of the place. "Where are we?" Buffy asked Spike over her shoulder.  
  
"Dunno." Spike waved down a porter, stepping into their luggage car. "Oy. Where is this?"  
  
The bulky troll grunted, one foot in the car, the other in the platform. It continued into the car, shoving some of the luggage around. "Dodge City."  
  
"Dodge City?" Buffy's face screwed up in thought.  
  
"Rooms available," the troll said, shoving a huge trunk out of the luggage car and onto the platform. It nodded at the trunk in satisfaction and went back into the car.  
  
"Rooms? Why do we need rooms?" Buffy moved in front of the opening. The troll shoved a trunk at her and she sidestepped it neatly.  
  
"Restocking."  
  
She twisted around, noticing there were porters and tenders of all sorts, swarming over the engine and its cars. People of all types were disembarking, some with their luggage, some without, all of them making a move towards the streets. Buffy wrinkled her nose. The stench here was terrible; people all packed in together, the rendering factories for animal parts. She could smell cattle and other animals close by; could hear the sounds of their cries. "How long will the train be restocking?" she asked.  
  
"Day, maybe two." The troll shrugged.  
  
"Two days?" Buffy couldn't help the near-wail that escaped her throat.  
  
Spike touched her shoulder lightly. "We've been traveling two weeks, pet," he said. "Another day or two won't make much difference. Hell, we could still lose more in the mountains, to bandits." She pinned him with a furious gaze and he held up his hands to deflect her wrath, taking a step back. "Just saying."  
  
"Fine." Buffy bit off the word with a snap. "Porter, bring out that luggage there." She pointed to her boxes. "Spike, go find us some rooms."  
  
* * *  
  
Some places in this new world evolved, Spike thought, staring at the ceiling of his room. Others devolved. Dodge City was one of the latter. Dangerous, dirty; full of rovers and gamblers; fighters and peddlers of all sorts, Dodge City was the type of town he'd have loved back when he was a demon. He could only imagine the trouble he could have gotten into in Dodge. He'd traveled through here before, seeking word of Buffy and Angel. As far as he knew, they'd never passed through this town. He wondered if she'd tell him if they actually had.  
  
Spike rolled off the bed, walking to the window and staring out at it. Night was falling, the sun slipping down in a wake of purple and orange clouds. He could hear the sounds of the city rising from below. A part of him itched to join the nightlife, to become a part of it and lose himself in it. Most were welcome in this world, humans included, but he didn't want to leave Buffy alone in the hotel, no matter that she could take care of herself. He almost thought she might go off and leave him, given the chance.  
  
He sighed, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. She'd turned almost sullen as they'd traveled the streets, looking for a place to spend the next day or so. Maybe it was because the first couple of places wouldn't allow the dog. More likely the loss of time getting her back to her precious Angel.  
  
"Well, that ain't gonna happen overnight," Spike muttered to himself, his breath fogging the window. He stared at it, remembering when he wouldn't have been able to do this. The thought came to him, as it often did, that being a human wasn't for him. He hated the lack of strength his body had; the way it didn't bounce back after an injury. He hated that he couldn't go throw himself into a brawl tonight for the fun of it. He couldn't drink himself senseless, he couldn't do a lot of things any more.  
  
"What fun is being human, anyway?" he asked his reflection. Yeah, like being able to see himself was worth it. He curled his lip at the window. Not that he wasn't a right handsome bloke; Spike admitted wholeheartedly that he was; hadn't kept a lotta girls from offering themselves and some guys, too, to him. Still, it wasn't the same, was it? He could be evil and be human; soulless, heartless but it wasn't the same as being a demon. Plus, and this was the real kicker, wasn't it, he was getting older. Humans aged. Something no one had bothered reminding him about when he was given this bloody 'gift' of humanity. They got old. They lost teeth. Lost their ability to get it up if they were men and lost control of their bowels, both sexes. Sure, he was able to father kids now, like that was any great shakes, but he'd rather look at himself in the mirror and not see new wrinkles and bloody hell, was that a grey hair? Spike growled, spinning away from the window. He peered at himself in the mirror, squinting. His eyesight, too; that was going. It hadn't been great when he was human before, he thought he remembered that, too. Now, with the way things were going, he'd have to ask Red for some sort of sight repair or glasses and no way was he wearing glasses.  
  
* * *  
  
The moon glared down from over overhead, the only light in the sky. It washed away the color of the landscape, muting everything to silvered greys and shades of black. Buffy walked along the beach, the waves making a soft crashing sound. Willow was on one side of her, in a long, flowy peasant dress, the kind that Tara had liked. She had her arm linked with Buffy's, her smile bright and sunny, casting a light unlike the moon's.  
  
"It's so pretty here," Willow said, swinging her free hand.  
  
Buffy glanced around, seeing debris littering the beach; bodies, a burning car, a huge sand castle being torn down by the waves.  
  
"Come on, Buffy," Willow said, jumping ahead of her, spinning in a circle to make her skirts flare. The waves sparkled at her bare feet, rushing up over her ankles. "Everyone's waiting." She pointed at the castle.  
  
Buffy shaded her eyes against the blare from the moon. There were people on the castle's battlements, waving down at her. "Dawn?"  
  
"Buffy!" Dawn waved wildly with both hands over her head.  
  
"Dawnie, no," Buffy whispered, seeing her sister leaning against the wall. The sand glittered and crumpled beneath Dawn's weight.  
  
"Buffy!" Dawn bounced in her excitement, part of the wall falling. "Up here, Buffy!"  
  
"Dawn, step back! You're gonna fall!" Buffy flung her hands out, as if she could stop her sister. "You'll fall!"  
  
"Maybe not. Things change."  
  
Buffy stared at Forge, his head cocked to one side as he studied the castle. "I," she said, biting her lip, "I miss her so much."  
  
Forge smiled one of his toothy grins, something that had made her nervous when she'd first met him. He laid a calloused hand on her shoulder. "What are you willing to give up to keep her, Buffy?"  
  
Water sloshed loudly and Buffy jerked awake, hearing Cafell leap away from the tub. She blinked, shaking her head, pressing her hands to her eyes. "Sorry, girl," she mumbled to her dog. Buffy heard the collie shake her coat, the peculiar clapping sound coupled with droplets landing everywhere and slid deeper into the tub to avoid it. The water in the tub had cooled as she slept. It wasn't really comfortable any more. With a sigh, Buffy picked up the harsh soap, working it to make a lather. She roughly ran the soap over her skin, trying not to remember the feel of Angel's hands following the same paths, the pressure of her back against his chest as they shared a bath, his strong fingers massaging soap into her hair. Shivering, Buffy climbed out of the tub, grabbing the towel and scrubbing her hair. The second towel was wrapped tightly around her body. She crossed the room, sitting on a chair in front of the vanity mirror. Picking up a comb, she began dragging it through the wet white ends of her hair.  
  
The dream clung to her like a shroud. Dawn...Buffy had to close her eyes, thinking of her sister. Usually, when she dreamed of Dawn Angel would hold her. Or he'd take her out somewhere.  
  
Someone knocked.  
  
Buffy met her reflection's eyes, noted Cafell's casual slink towards the doorway. She snapped her fingers and the dog stopped, dropping to the floor at Buffy's signal. "Who is it?"  
  
"Who d'ya bloody think?" came through the door.  
  
Cafell's lips furled back at the sound of Spike's voice. Buffy called the dog to her, winding her fingers through Cafell's collar. "Come in."  
  
Spike hesitated at the entrance, ingrained habit, Buffy guessed. He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. "Not locked." He raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that a bit dangerous, pet? 'Specially while you're taking a bath?" He gestured towards the tub, taking in the towels she wore instead of clothes.  
  
She shrugged. "Cafell's a good protector." Turning back to the mirror, Buffy started working on her hair again.  
  
"Listen, pet, I was fancying a trip into town. Wanna come with?" He cocked his head, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Buffy stared at his reflection (Spike's reflection!); the slouch in the doorway, the cigarette, the hair falling over his forehead. James Dean lives, she thought, wondering if Spike had planned the pose. "It's a limited time offer." He shifted his weight in that fluid way he had and she had to drop her eyes from the mirror. They'd traced down from his face past his chest and so not going there, Buffy, she scolded herself, busying her hands with the ends of her hair. "Well, pet?" There was an insinuating quality to his voice when he said, "Look at me."  
  
She licked her lips and slowly obeyed, meeting his gaze. His smirk was familiar, sardonic. She shivered under the force of his stare, remembering other times when he'd trained it on her in the past. It licked across her, that memory firing her senses. Buffy shifted uncomfortably, feeling her flesh flush up, hoping Spike couldn't see it in the mirror. "Or maybe you'd rather stay in."  
  
No such luck. She recognized that silky tone and jerked her gaze to his reflection almost reflexively. The smile she saw there, so dangerous, cocky. It drew her in, moth to flame; so unlike Angel's.  
  
Someone had Angel. He was captured, taken from her, probably hurt. Her backbone stiffened and the expression of her reflection was no longer the one from three years ago but the one from now, harder, clearer. She noticed Spike's disappointment, there one second, gone the next and knew if she hadn't seen it, she wouldn't have known. Acting still, always acting, Spike taking on role of confidant, friend, companion, lover, rapist...what was he now? Oh, yeah. Guard dog.  
  
"Sure." She dropped the word casually. "We'll go into town. Just let me get ready." Dismissively, she turned her attention back to the mirror, grabbing for the edge of the towel as it started to slide.  
  
"Don't on my behalf, pet," Spike said, leering and she caught sight of his surprise when he noticed. So she left the towel half off, watching his reaction to her tattoo in the mirror. "What the hell?" He crossed the room in three long strides, ignoring Cafell's half-rise and Buffy's swift reminder to the dog to stay still. Spike shoved her hair out of the way, pushed the towel further down. "What is this?"  
  
"What's it look like?" Buffy asked, her skin strangely cold now under his warm (human) touch. "These are his eyes," Spike said, his own meeting hers in the mirror.  
  
"He always has my back," Buffy said, almost patiently. "Are you getting out of my room so I can get dressed?"  
  
He fell back a little, the tip of his tongue appearing then vanishing, just that quick. "I'll be waiting," he said, his movements almost jerky now from the shock. "My room." He vanished through the door and Buffy shook her head almost gently. Spike, surprised. And Angel'd missed it.  
  
* * *  
  
"There are things in the night." She wondered if she even said it out loud or just thought it, the words swirling around like a dust devil in her mind. Cordelia brushed at her walnut hair impatiently, making a face at the coarseness of her hands. What she wouldn't give for the lotions she had when the world was right, before the end. Now she had to deal with skin an alligator would find repulsive. She frowned at herself in the mirror, taking in her reflection, studying it closely. Would he recognize her if he walked in the door today?  
  
Cordelia sighed and pushed away from the vanity. It didn't matter. Angel was gone, lost somewhere in the darkness with her. She squeezed her eyes shut. She still hated saying that name. Buffy. Buffy Summers, the vampire Slayer. "God, why couldn't she have just stayed dead?" she asked the air. "But no, Willow had to bring her back and look what happened then." She spun around, striding across the room, her fists thumping her thighs with every step.  
  
There was a soft sound from the corner of her room and Cordelia whirled, her anger bleeding out of her. "Oh, no, baby, don't cry," she said soothingly, moving towards her child. "I didn't mean to scare you. Mommy doesn't want that." She stroked her daughter's face. "I'm not angry at you." She smiled, trying to keep the tears that were building in her eyes from leaking. "Never at you. You're a good girl."  
  
"Good girl," her daughter whispered back.  
  
"That's right. Mommy's just angry, thinking about your Daddy and how long he's been gone." "Daddy?"  
  
"Angel, sweetheart," Cordelia said, wishing her skin was as smooth as her daughter's. Absolutely flawless, silky to the touch. Nothing was finer than the skin of a baby.  
  
"My Daddy," her daughter said, snuggling into Cordelia's touch.  
  
"That's right. Your Daddy. Connor's Daddy, too. You remember what I told you about Connor, don't you? He'd be your big brother." Something distant inside of her screamed, "Liar!" at those words. She ignored it. "He'd love you so much. You're so beautiful."  
  
"Me?" Her smile was heartbreakingly sweet, her pretty, bow-shaped lips spreading wide. "Me, Mommy?"  
  
"You, my darling girl," Cordelia said. She embraced her daughter, marveling again that a vampire would be able to father two children. "It must be magic," she whispered, breathing in the clean, childish scent, the copper-colored living armor of her daughter familiar and soothing in her arms.  
  
"Magic's bad, Mommy. You said, you said."  
  
"No, no, sweetheart, not for us. Never for us. It must have been magic for me to get you." She pressed a kiss on her daughter's forehead. "You need to sleep now, darling. It'll be another big day tomorrow."  
  
"Why?" she asked, all childish innocence as she snuggled into her bed.  
  
Cordelia stroked her cheek again. "We have to get ready, Leah. The Slayer will be coming soon." She fingered the russet quills that decorated her daughter's skull, molding into sharp hackles that ran the length of her spine. "And I need you to be very careful. Do you understand?"  
  
"Ssslayer," her daughter said, the sound slipping past her sharp teeth. Her blue eyes glittered up at Cordelia, claws springing cat-like from the tips of her fingers. "Do I get to kill her, Mommy?"  
  
"You certainly get to help." Cordelia wrapped her daughter in another hug. "And then we'll have Daddy all to ourselves, the way it should be."  
  
* * *  
  
The clang jerked Angel awake in time to see a doorway slide open. A huge, completely non- human hand slid a pot through it and the door shut again, long before he could propel himself to his feet and over to it. His nose twitched, the scent captured and registered in his aching head: blood. He needed it. He couldn't remember the last time they'd fed him. Days had a way of taking on an endless quality here. He couldn't even remember how long ago he'd been captured. Was it a month? Two? Longer, even? He tried to count up feedings but they came so irregularly it was useless.  
  
He reached the pot and pushed the lid off. It was still faintly warm, steam rising sluggishly in the fetid air. He carefully lifted the pot in his shaking hands, clasping it in both to steady it. How long had it been since he'd eaten?  
  
Tilting it to his lips, Angel held that first gulp on his tongue for a long time before he allowed it to trickle down his throat. His body ached for him to feed. His face rearranged its configuration, the fangs got in the way of the rim of the pot. God, he was so hungry. But he forced myself to drink slowly, prolong it because who knew when-if-they'd feed him again.  
  
He'd survived being submerged beneath the ocean for a long time. It did things to his mind. He remembered it vaguely, more as impressions than anything else. He knew he went a little, maybe a lot, mad down there. He knew he could do that here. But he knew Buffy was looking for him. He could feel her out there somewhere, her anger and fury building like a threatening storm. And when she found him, someone was gonna be in trouble.  
  
The singsong words echoed off the heavy walls of his cage and he let them drift into his ears. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. He tried to keep from giggling. It wouldn't help matters. He could practice Tai Chi, as he had daily, maybe every few hours since his capture.  
  
If Lilah had really wanted to hurt him, she'd have packed him into something smaller. But he guessed this would do for whatever she had in mind.  
  
Mental torture left scars, too.  
  
It wasn't anything he didn't already know. As a demon, he'd done his fair share of torturing. Angelus was considered a master of it, the ways to drive someone slowly insane with pain or more subtly, by loss of hope. "I can't lose hope," Angel whispered to himself. "She's coming. And she'll get all of us out of here." He wondered now, though, if his first day was a hallucination. Connor was dead. Dawn was dead. Their deaths were the reason he'd run with Buffy, the simple truth. He'd watched his son die. Buffy saw Dawn get ripped to shreds by magic gone horribly wrong.  
  
Angel had lost the ability to assign blame. At first, it had been the daily game, the hourly argument, who was right, who was wrong. He shivered, remembering the fights; real, physical battles, he and Buffy had gotten into over it. Either of them could have walked away at any time but something kept them together. He twitched his shoulder as if he could feel the tattoo of her eyes back there. Now, he was back where it all started.  
  
And where was she? Angel pressed his back against the wall, the empty jug dangling between his knees. She was coming, he knew that. Lilah wanted Buffy. He was nothing more than bait. Buffy would trade anything to get him back. And if they hadn't been a hallucination, if Dawn and Connor were real...Angel knew Buffy would kill to rescue Dawn. Despite any changes she'd gone through, despite all the baggage and sorrow of the past, she was still the same girl he'd seen so many years ago, sitting on the steps of her school, her heart on her sleeve. Lilah knew how to play it, how to push both of them into exactly the positions she wanted. And right now, she held all the bargaining chips. Whatever she wanted, Angel knew Buffy would probably give it, willingly offering herself for whatever sacrifice Lilah planned.  
  
Something scraped at the door. Startled, Angel didn't quite have the time to scramble to his feet when the door opened, letting something blindingly bright in with him. He could just smell Lilah's perfume drift in lazily. "I think you have a message," she said and threw the bright thing.  
  
He flinched, couldn't help it, the brilliance hurt his dark-adjusted eyes. But the thing chirped and chimed, its wings fanning the air around him. He forced himself to look at it, shading his eyes. Vaguely horse-shaped, glowing pink, as energetic as a mad hummingbird, it darted in close, barely a hands' breadth from his face, its faceted eyes flicking over his face, its tongue tasting his scent. Satisfied, it hummed backwards, hovering. It chirped in satisfaction then, in Buffy's voice, it spoke. "I'm coming for you, Angel. Never doubt that." There was a pause and the inflection of her voice changed from reassuring to deadly. "Tell whoever has you that no one messes with my boyfriend."  
  
The Go-Between chirped again and streaked out of the room, leaving an afterimage of its shape burned into Angel's retinas. He blinked, trying to dispel it as Lilah clapped from the doorway.  
  
"Bravo," she said. "I have to admit, Angel, she's got guts. No style, mind you but guts in plenty." She paused. "You don't have anything to say?" He managed to focus on her, the lights from the corridor behind her making his eyes water. He could just spot the hulking mass of one of her blue-furred guards.  
  
"Maybe I should have Dru come down to shake your tongue loose," Lilah said thoughtfully, pressing a forefinger to her cheek. "She'd probably like that. She's been moaning about her Daddy and when she'd get to see him again." Her smile was still reminiscent of a shark's. "Would you like the company, Angel?"  
  
"You know, Lilah," he said, "Buffy's not joking. She is coming for me." "I'm sure she is. And it's nice that she confirmed that. Always R.S.V.P., that's what I say." She flipped her hair off her shoulders. "It just confirms what I suspected, anyway. Get you here, she'll follow. I'm sure it works the other way around, too." She swayed a little on her high heels, rearranging her stance. "Of course, Dru probably would've just killed her, rather than brought her back. Or maybe it would've been the other way around. Just one big ol' catfight." Her smile was mocking. "The idea turn you on, Angel?"  
  
He watched her through half-masted eyes as he said, "Seen it."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose you have." Lilah shrugged. "Right now, we're just playing a waiting game. Everyone's on alert, my people are waiting for the minute she enters L.A. I'm sure she'll head over to the Hyperion first, check in there - oh, wait, you didn't know it was still active, did you?" She gloated over the reaction he couldn't quite keep hidden. "Cordy's still there, you know; with all your other playmates. Wes, Gunn, the little genius and how could I forget, Lorne?"  
  
"I'm sure they're a thorn in your side, too," Angel managed to rasp out . "Well.I suppose they could be. We don't really run in the same circles any more. They're out there, putting out fires, I'm up here," she swept a hand out to indicate the building.  
  
"Starting them?" he interrupted.  
  
"Oh, silly boy, no, no, no." Lilah wagged a finger at him. "Working. Doing research."  
  
"On what, a way to bring your masters through?" Angel asked.  
  
Her mouth twisted upwards. "Got it in one, Angel. I'm pretty surprised. But it isn't just that, you know."  
  
"Why don't you just tell me, Lilah. We both know you're dying to."  
  
She laughed shortly. "Not exactly, Angel. If I do tell you, somehow, you might find a way to warn your precious Slayer. Or those people still fighting the," she made air quotes, "good fight." Lilah shrugged. "See, I can keep a secret. And really, if you knew my plans, you might see things my way." She rocked back slightly. "But I'd rather not take that chance. See you, Angel." She waved jauntily as the door closed.  
  
Angel waited until the sound of footsteps faded before sliding back down the wall. He dug his fingers into his hair, scrubbing his hands across his face. "Buffy, what have we gotten ourselves in to this time?" 


End file.
